Wendung
by laurose
Summary: What if Takatori had been less blatant about disposing of Ran's father? Knight/Ran. Warning for character deaths: Hel, Taiyou, Manx, Crawford.
1. Ran

disclaimer: Weiss belongs to Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiss and others

Thanks to my beta Sybil Rowan

a/n: in this timeline 'Aya' always refers to the sister

* * *

Ran was surprised he was allowed to see the important Reiji Takatori at all. He was ushered in almost immediately. Not, he thought, to Takatori's working office. His father had told him about the putting green in the middle of the floor.

This oversized suite had the flat, unlived feel of a stage set. Everything was too formal and chromed, as if a Victorian room in a museum had crashed into an Ideal Computer Exhibition and both had died of the shock. Polished aides and secretaries hurried about with the air of delivering front line dispatches. The view should have been imposing, but they were too far up to see anything but other skyscrapers.

And wouldn't his father have told him about one wall being a collage of headlines and photos of violent crime?

Ran stumbled through his prepared speech. On the other side of the massive desk, Takatori's frown grew blacker and blacker. He growled. "I hate ingratitude, boy."

Surely he'd put expressions of gratitude in that talk? "I am sorry if I give that impression. But..." Ran remembered dinner last night. His mother eaten up by grief. His sister so withdrawn she needed reminding to eat. Takatori's aides talking through the meal about political campaigns, to each other or on their cell phones. "Ours is a house of mourning."

The Fujimiyas were newly arrived from Hokkaido. When their father was shot in a burglary of Takatori's office they'd had only Takatori to turn to. Now they were finding out Takatori was making a good return from his help. 'Prominent Banker Gunned Down inside Headquarters of National Party' was the tabloid response. What the police called burglary Takatori claimed a personal attack. On himself.

Ran added, "And can you ask your staff not to go through my father's things in our home? At least without supervision."

"Those are my papers!"

Eighteen years of being raised as a well mannered Japanese told Ran to back down and apologise. He just managed to look Takatori in the eye as he said, "Not all of them."

Takatori growled in basso and looked possessively at the folders littering his desk. "Well, we'll talk about that after the taping." Ran believed himself dismissed. He stepped back once, before he remembered Takatori had said nothing about calling off his invaders.

Takatori went on, "Hey, where are you going, young man? The taping will be here in my study." He looked lovingly at the various pictures of himself with dignitaries on the wall, at an angle to be caught by the most obtuse camera.

"But you won't want - "

"That's the point of it. You're the son of the murdered man. You just have to say you feel the police are dragging on their investigation, and ask people to support my search for your father's murderers. Fortunately I've people who believe in me on News Watch 9, and they've agreed to insert a brief flash right at the beginning - "

"No!" protested Ran.

"No?" asked Takatori incredulously. Very few people said no to him. Certainly not the families of employees. "You mean you refuse to help me catch your own father's murderer?"

Ran felt pretty muddled by now. That was his duty, but, "How will my going on television help?"

"It will spur the people of Japan to action," said Takatori solemnly. "It will shame the police force into trying harder to catch the killer."

Ran had a sudden memory of his father saying, yes, you owed your employer your total loyalty. That included facing up to what sort of person he was and what his weaknesses were. Takatori was being a pompous ass then, too. Ran was sure his father had been loyal without groveling, but he couldn't see how. Ran tried to control his grief. The clench of his jaw and flattening of his mouth and eyebrows looked like anger.

A faint voice in his mind insisted he ought to do what Takatori-san said. Takatori-san was older and wiser than him. He owed Takatori-san. It didn't quite sound like his father, but wouldn't his father have agreed?

Ran dropped his eyes and bowed his head. Takatori said, "Right! You sit over there - "

It was extremely rude to interrupt, but Ran was pretty sure he'd never get to say anything unless he did. "I can't."

"I'll do most of the talking," Takatori assured him, and Ran believed him. "My best speech writer has written you a – Hey! Come back here!"

Takatori had made funeral arrangements, and had arranged a doctor to examine and medicate Ran's mother and sister. So Ran managed not to call him a fool before he turned on his heel and walked out.

Ran felt as if he'd been called back. He walked away from it. Almost as if he was arguing with another, he asked if Takatori realised how shaken his mother and sister had been by the reporters. Himself as well, Ran had to admit. Did he really think anybody with a scrap of responsibility was going to summon more harassment onto his family? Wouldn't he do the Japanese thing for once, and _leave them alone_?

Ran had a vague idea the big American bodyguard was cooling Takatori's splutters down to a simmer, but he didn't really care. He stormed past various secretaries and out of the suite of suites. Taking the stairs might have helped his stress, but they were an absurd, pretentious forty floors up. He pressed the button. Gilt, of course.

Another of Takatori's foreign bodyguards had followed him. On Ran's way in, the plush foyer had been busy with people. Somehow, now they were the only people there. As the other redhead approached, Ran felt a sense of menace. Absurd, of course. There was nothing he could do to him. Except, of course, upbraid him for ingratitude and sheer bad manners. Ran turned round and braced himself for a tirade.

The lift door chimed and both looked toward it. A school girl with blue hair bounced out. More from the junior empress attitude than the face, Ran vaguely remembered her as some distant relative of Takatori's. She saw the redheaded bodyguard and beamed. Then she saw Ran.

Her face tried to look appropriately serious, but hadn't had much practise. She rushed up and said, "You're Fujimiya, aren't you? I'm so sorry. Please feel free to call..."

This was fine as far as it went, but it went far too long. Switching down the lift's hold, Ran began wondering if he'd have been better off with the bodyguard. He said, "Thank you, um..." He tried to reclaim his other hand. How had she managed to get hold of it?

"Call me Ouka."

"Thank you, Ouka." He managed to pull his hand free. "I have to get back home now."

"Oh, I'll come with you."

Ran found himself looking toward the bodyguard for rescue, or at least explanation. None was forthcoming. He had an idea the man was glad to see this happening to someone else. Ran asked, "Excuse me, why - ?"

"It's the Takatoris' responsibility to see your family is all right." The last thing Ran wanted was more Takatori help. He didn't get the chance to say so. "If I know Tousan, he's done everything his aides say should be done, and nothing useful. Your poor mother..."

She was right. She wasn't nearly so much the bimbo when he looked closer. "Takatori-san did send her his doc - "

Ouka gave the smallest and most ladylike snort. "Yokoo? One of Masafumi's stooges." She couldn't be talking about her own brother, could she? Ran couldn't conceive a younger sister talking about her older brother with that contempt and dislike. Masafumi was quite a common name.

Ran meekly followed her into the lift. The bodyguard interrupted, in a sharp, nasal voice. "Sorry, Ouka-san. Fujimiya here still has some work to do for your father back in the office." He looked thoughtfully at Ran for a moment, with piercing blue eyes. "Something he _owes_ Takatori-san."

Ran thought of his mother and sister. They would have been better off alone than with Takatori's people. "My family comes first." He looked back. There was some pressure on him, and he braced to resist.

Ouka interrupted before their staring match got anywhere. "Of course it does! You can come with us, Jaeger-san, and discuss it on the way. You can drive us there." The bodyguard walked into the lift as meekly as Ran.

Ran said, "Our house is - "

The bodyguard said, "I know where you live." It might have sounded sinister, if Ran wasn't sure after the muster of journalists everyone knew where they lived. He shouldn't have been away so long. Takatori's flunkeys, with their faces jammed into their laptops and cell phones, wouldn't notice if a whole television crew tramped in.

Or would they invite the crew in themselves to get favorable publicity for Takatori? The big black limousine pulled up and left a wake of cherry blossom in front of the rich Japanese house on the secluded street. Ran braced himself.

Jaeger said, "They left a couple of sentries and went on to livelier game. And they're in the tea house down the street." Takatori's people must have seen something beside their own screens after all.

As the disdainful chaffeur shut the limousine door he glanced at the tea house. Jaeger said, "Wanna bet they're on cell phones, too?"

Ouka said, "Don't. Jaeger-san always wins bets."

Inside was a bit noisier. Having rearranged the furniture for more efficient Takatori business in the Fujimiya home, Sawada was putting in extra electrical outlets for their office equipment. "It won't take a minute," he reassured Ran over the scream of power drills. "It's upgrading the place, really."

Through this noise, Ran heard Jaeger say something about kindergarten.

Ouka held Ran's elbow and asked, "Where is your family?"

They left Jaeger to it. The Takatori din was only a little muffled when Ran slid the living room doors close between it and them. Ouka looked a bit apologetically at Ran. "They're not that bad, really. Just..." She shook her head and decided she'd rather not think about Sawada's lot.

Considering how noisy the house was, it was absurd for Ran to try being quiet as he opened the door to his mother's room. He bit his lip when he saw her huddled in the bed his parents had shared.

To Ouka he whispered, "Those sedatives are pretty strong. She won't wake till lunch time."

Ouka gave him a rather strange look and said, "It's two in the afternoon."

Ran frowned as he tried to think. There'd been breakfast...not so long ago, surely. And then...

Ouka tugged the elbow she was still held. "How about your sister?"

Ran was careful to be quiet when he slid shut the door of his parents' room. He was silent when he led Ouka to his sister's.

Aya-chan's room had been pink and cheerful chaos. Even Kaasan had smiled when telling her to clean it up. The girl sitting listlessly on the bed seemed so out of place.

Ouka carefully set aside a stuffed animal to draw up a frilly pouffe. She spoke to her more gently than Ran would have thought she could. She spoke about school things, and her own day, and how sorry everyone was. And she also told Aya and the listening Ran a few things about Sawada to show he was a silly man. Office gossip, of course. As far as Ouka was concerned, Sawada was the well suited muscle so proud of his son's wins in soccer.

Ran's head suddenly jerked. He'd been concentrating on the two girls so hard he'd never quite noticed when the noise in the living room had stopped.

When he looked back at the girls, Aya's hand was out to Ouka's. She clung to Ouka.

Ouka looked up at him, her face shining.

A little to him, more to Aya, she said, "You can't stay here. Jaeger-san can probably get rid of Sawada all right - "

"I have," said Jaeger's sharp voice at Ran's shoulder. Ran was sure he hadn't been near a moment ago.

"But this house..." Ran knew what she meant. Everything he saw reminded him of his father. She reassured him, "Kaasan has a large house. Plenty of space for you three."

Ran remembered his last sight of Takatori's face. "I don't think Takatori-san would like us moving in with you."

"Oh, my parents don't live together." A bit reluctantly, "They're not married." She was quick to return to the main point. "Kaasan runs her own restaurant and supports herself. She doesn't have to ask Tousan's permission for anything."

Ran thought that went some way to explaining Ouka. He'd have preferred not to get further mixed up with Takatoris, but his own family's immediate need came first. To Aya, "You can pack for a few days, imouto?"

"A week at least." Ouka said seriously, "I've had to learn a few things about the media. When they scent weakness they hang on. Like you Fujimiyas."

Ran having packed, he waited with Jaeger in the living room while Ouka helped Aya wake Mrs Fujimiya. The two girls packed for her.

While he carted suitcases to the front he mentioned, with some diffidence, his wait-staff experience. He was relieved to find Ouka didn't object to the idea of employing him. "Kaasan will probably be glad for you to get some kitchen experience, too. She likes the staff to get an idea of each other's work. And if you need extra work my boyfriend works in a flower shop - "

Jaeger swore again. For a second, Ran thought it was the idea of him working in a flower shop. Then he saw the German was staring at the front door. Jaeger looked at the three youngsters and smirked ruefully. With a slight twist of his lips, it didn't look so sneering. "Sorry, kids. I was a bit distracted. There's quite a few new and improved reporters out there, ready for the kill." The question of how he knew was bumped down in favour of, "How the hell do we get past them?"

"The roof," suggested Ran instantly. "That's how Aya and I always got past curfews."

Jaeger had to really squeeze to get behind the loose window grill. Through gritted teeth, "I shall not rest until I see Crawford like this."

Ouka said helpfully, "If you wiggle a bit..."

"I gotta Y chromosome. I'm not meant to wiggle." He succeeded in falling out and glowered as Ran followed through without wiggling.

Ran consoled him. "You learn how to do it."

"The hell I will." He looked wistfully in the direction of the posh limousine and cell phoned a taxi.

They were getting in the taxi when some outlying journalist spotted them. In what seemed one instant, they were surrounded by a mass of bodies and equipment and leering, mindless faces. It was a nightmare. Jaeger palmed his forehead.

The journalists directed most of their questions at Mrs Fujimiya, not giving her time to reply. "What is your comment - ?" "Did you know - ?" "Will you be returning the money?"

"Money?" asked Ouka. Ran knocked a couple of grabbing hands off his mother, and Aya helped her into the taxi. Jaeger backhanded the nearest reporter to the ground. The rest backed off a little.

Most of the pack said something. A sandpaper soprano cut through them triumphantly. "Sure. Didn't you hear? They've found Fujimiya's suicide note. He'd been stealing from Takatori and was going to be found out."

It was a good thing Ran didn't know which of the dull, hungry faces looking at him said that. He stared back to see how to hurt them, and realised they weren't looking only at him. They were also looking at his mother and sister.

He and Jaeger scrambled into the cab together. The driver took off even before Ouka gabbled an address.

He didn't even want to imagine how his mother must feel. He looked at her shame faced and she looked back at him wrong. Not surprised enough. Surely it was just she'd have heard the Takatori staff talking. He tried to think of words to reassure her. Then he glanced at Aya and Ouka, who were swapping indignations at the press, and praising Jaeger warmly. Later.

His first job was to take care of his family. Other stuff could wait. Would have to wait.

He and his mother didn't look at each other again for the drive.


	2. Crawford

Watching the well behaved audience of reporters, Crawford wondered again at how Takatori, who couldn't handle one skittish teenager, could so well manage a crowd. Sometimes he thought Reiji had some talent. A variant of empathy, perhaps.

There would be some editorial disapproval. The left naturally disliked Takatori's agenda. The women's magazines disliked his lack of a wife and family to gush over, or at least a glamorously elegible bacherlorhood. But the journalists who'd come to scoff at the law-and-order politician who employed a thief, found themselves listening, with as near respect as they got, to someone who'd been betrayed by a family retainer. Crawford wondered what the Fujimiyas, who were, when it came down to it, of bluer blood than the Takatoris, would have felt about that.

This was merely a preliminary to one of Takatori's standard nationalistic, law and order speeches. Takatori liked to keep Schuldig out of the way for those. It wasn't only that he was so obviously unJapanese, it was that his face never seemed quite right while Takatoi was talking about needing respect for authority. Besides Crawford's Nisei heritage, he impressed with his air of competent professionalism.

Takatori concluded this speech as usual, by proclaiming himself a man of Japan, first and foremost. He was independent of either international socialism or international finance.

Crawford tensed when the journalists crowded round asking questions afterward. Crawford's politics might need Reiji Takatori. His talent simply couldn't be persuaded that outstanding pain was necessary to the health or happiness of Brad Crawford.

As the chaos didn't seem to be ebbing, he caught the eye of one of his more intelligent subordinates and nodded.

Towards the back of the crowd a rough looking fellow started threatening Takatori and waving a revolver. The gun was unloaded. Takatori had thought a few wild shots would add nicely to the effect, and had even been prepared to offer the names of a couple of papers he wouldn't mind seeing lose a reporter. Crawford, however, preferred no shooting at all.

Smooth looking guards hustled away the roughneck, who was shouting Communist slogans at the top of his voice. That last was a nice touch. Crawford hoped the guy wouldn't have to be shot while escaping, he didn't like wasting a good tool.

More guards hustled Takatori to his waiting car. Crawford didn't need Schuldig to tell him a few of the reporters would be pretty sceptical, but they would be glad of the simple, dramatic story to print, and they would print it.

Perhaps Takatori's gift wasn't psychic, after all.

Takatori frowned at the car. One of the guards said deprecatingly, "Jaeger-san took the limousine."

It was experience, not precognition, which made Crawford decide to skip the scene he could see coming. "With your permission, Takatori-san, I will stay here and check things out." Which things, both he and his employer knew, was Takatori's reports to Essett.

One thing about Takatori, thought Crawford, sitting in Takatori's comfortable desk chair and stretching out his legs under the wide desk. He didn't use dinky little furniture. He was feeling more charitable with the politician than he had for some time when the most private phone rang. It was either the Palace, the Prime Minister, or Takatori himself.

Not surprisingly, it turned out to be Takatori. He was pleased with himself. A prominent opponent in the House had rung up to offer his sympathy.

Crawford was so relieved it wasn't a Hirofumi or Masafumi disaster it took him a moment to realise this could be the most important gain of all. "That was good of him."

"'Course, I told him where to get off. He's just trying to rub it in. I remember..."

Perhaps it would be easier just to have Takatori proclaimed Emperor.

Takatori's grumbling voice finally tailed away, and he rang off. Crawford hung up the telephone in a calm, careful and controlled manner. He just refrained from taking a bite out of the receiver.

Sometimes he thought he and Schuldig weren't enough. Coping with the Takatoris' enemies was easy enough. He and Schuldig could handle any physical enemy -

There was a sharp twinge in his temple. Real, stereoscopic in-colour prevision was short term, generally within five minutes. However, Crawford had hunches sometimes. He'd learned to listen to them.

Then there could be someone out there the two of them couldn't walk over. Worth knowing, but Crawford had no more idea about them than that. He was confident he could deal with them when the time came.

At the moment he was still more worried about coping with the Takatoris themselves. What he wanted was someone to help him cope with office work, handle computers, deal diplomatically with Elders and other megalomaniacs. And, if it was superhumanly possible, rein in Schuldig.

Talking of the devil's henchman...

As if summoned by Crawford's look at the office door, Schuldig limped through. He'd lost his bandana, his sunglasses and much of his composure. Crawford had already had time to get over his surprise, but he had to ask, "What were they? And how many?"

"Reporters. And more of a mass than a multitude." Collapsing onto the nearest chair, "Wasn't that suicide note a bit much?"

Crawford smirked slightly. "If Fujimiya junior won't be of use in one way, then he will in another. This crime took place too near to Takatori to keep him out altogether. If he can't be the avenger of his innocent servant, he can be the victim of a crooked one. Not that any publicity is good for Takatori."

"He's got the clout to weather a lot worse than that."

"I suppose you'd have blown up the whole family?"

Schuldig returned his smirk. "And invited Takatori to watch."

Crawford picked up a piece of paper scrawled with a distinctively awful kanji Schuldig recognised. He winced even before Crawford spoke. "Well, I'm giving you your free rein on this job. Masafumi's latest toy is showing signs of remembering who she was before he got his hands on her. Under all this self puffery," he hefted the paper to show how heavy it was, "he admits he doesn't know what he's doing and wants you to bail him out."

"The family motto."

"Schuldig!" Crawford had warned him before. They couldn't be sure they weren't being overheard by someone who spoke German. They didn't even always speak German, finding themselves speaking Japanese unintentionally. Another of the joys of telepathic language dumps.

Schuldig took the paper and read its backhanded scrawl easily, which is a lot more than some professors of Japanese literature would have been able to do. Masafumi Takatori might depart from the normal doctor in some respects, but he had the bad handwriting part down pat.

His sharp voice sharpened further, to a whine. " Right away? But, B- , Massuh Crawford, suh, I gotta help the Fujimiyas pack to go back to Hokkaido. They'll be leaving in a couple of days. Otherwise, you don't know how long it'll be. You don't want the widow hanging round proclaiming hubbie's innocence to all and sundry, do you? Specially since it was you who so discreetly left her alive?"

Crawford thought it over. He didn't really think the widow much threat. Schuldig could always arrange for her to go over the edge from shock. But Schuldig was getting a bit bored and on edge.

Schuldig had watched the red-headed kid with more interest than he'd shown anything lately, apart from pure mischief. If he had a couple of days to play around with someone who wasn't Takaori's bought tail, he'd do better work afterward. And Crawford would have to listen to a lot less whining.

The last was probably what induced him to say, "Well, a couple of days won't hurt. But see the Fujimiyas are gone by then. All of them!"

"How about a week?"

Crawford didn't need telepathy to read Schuldig meant to extend that week if he got it. "Top. After that it's over."

Perhaps someone to keep Schuldig amused was the more urgent.


	3. Yohji

In the night club Bolivar Japan Yohji wasn't the sophisticate, the playboy, the joker. Here he was the drunk who cried in his rye about his lost love. It was a mask truer to life than the others.

The club's kitsch had been fun when he and Asuka had been alive. They'd been going to make something real of the playful themes. Now it was merely tired and sad, as if the club itself had learned it was only replaying a joke that had been on itself the first time. The waiters were harder and tireder, the drinkers were weaker and warmer. But Thursdays had been staff night out for Murase and Kudoh.

Unusually, the staff acknowledged him that particular Thursday. The bartender served him his regular and said, "There's been a woman asking for you, the last two nights." In the old days the staff had enjoyed using archaic slang, and terrible American accents, to help the 1930s atmosphere. Nowadays, he spoke with the same slang and lilting Tokyo accent as on the streets outside. "She might be in later."

Yohji took his drink and gave an even heavier tip than usual. There were so many women that it hardly seemed worth wondering. He only knew she'd mean trouble. "Might as well get it over with," he said resignedly. "Leave any name or message?"

"Nah. She came in pretty late though. She might still show."

Yohji felt an impulse to sit somewhere different from usual, to keep the cubicle he and Asuka had used from being violated. Damn it, though, he would not be driven away! He'd promised only one woman in his life more than one night, and he wouldn't let himself be put in the wrong. He sat defiantly exactly where he always sat and scowled at his drink. There should have been jazz, but the club was broadcasting the latest pop song. It gave Yohji the feeling he'd wandered into the disused corner of a supermarket.

He kept an eye out for the woman. She was probably harmless, but he hadn't lasted this long by taking chances. (Unlike Ken, who _had_.) Manx would get such a laugh if the elite killer, Balinese, was taken out by some disgruntled civilian. Most of the woman nearby were kids or dogs, but one of them did look his type. She looked like Asuka.

She came nearer. Very, very like Asuka.

She sat down in Asuka's spot, in Asuka's casual, almost mannish way, and looked back with Asuka's eyes.

For a moment Yohji clutched at the thought she was a ghost. A ghost would have made sense. More, anyway, than a woman shot dead a year ago and also walking around warm and breathing and solid. Yohji didn't think she was just a fantasy. He'd had those, in plenty.

He reached out one hand. His Asuka. Solid.

And looking at him with the same impatient little frown. "Yohji, I need help. I need you sober to help."

"I'm not drunk," he protested reflexively. As he had a dozen times when she was – when they were together. Meekly, "I'll get some coffee from the bartender." He was rather slow in getting up, and he didn't think his knees were wobbly from alcohol. "Don't go away, will you?"

"No." She made a shooing motion. Her arm had needle tracks, but Asuka had never wanted drugs. And there were bruises...Misreading the cause of his nausea, "Hurry up and get that coffee."

"Promise. Promise you'll be here when I get back."

Even after she promised, he kept glancing back to make sure she was there. Maybe it was time travel? In a high tech haunting, Asuka had been allowed to go forward to do something about the people who'd killed her, but the inertia of time would whip her away before she could do anything effective.

He grabbed the coffee. Well, it was black and acrid, he wasn't waiting for the lab report.

He sat down and scalded his throat before he said anything more. That was real. No one can quite dream overbrewed, overhot coffee. "How?" But that tailed off. He didn't know what had happened, to know how. "They said you were dead."

She shrugged. "I wasn't taking notes at the time. I might have flatlined at the hospital - "

"What hospital?" Magic Bus? Good God, had Kritiker knowingly put him through this?

"Any hospital. I don't remember anything between me trying to do a line run around some thugs' bullets and waking up with some Klingon Grand Inquisitor trying to persuade me – oh, by the way, I think I might be wanted for murder."

Yes, that was his Asuka all right. "The doctor?"

Regretfully, "He wasn't there when I made a break for it. I swatted his head bitch a good one, though."

"You were in a madhouse?"

"Not a legit one. But those guys had resources. I'd bet on them being connected. Well, Riot was connected, wasn't it?"

"So what did they want you for?"

"Besides the obvious? The creep," she looked away from Yohji and her confident voice faltered, "was trying to persuade me I was some German woman. And loved him."

"Do you know his name?"

"They only called him by his first name."

"They?"

"His harem of bitches. Well, I don't know about the little one, she called him 'Daddy'. I think she was retarded. He called them by the sort of names you'd use for bitches anyway. Attack Dobermans. 'Schoen'. 'Hel'. And they called him Masafumi darling." To get some taste out of her mouth she grabbed the nearer of his drinks and swigged it. It turned out to be his rye whiskey. She had a short coughing fit.

Handing her the coffee, "You got any luggage to pick up before you come home with me?"

"None worth the risk. Every time I go back to that hotel I think they'll be waiting for me."

As they stood he managed to start his brain again, at least in third gear. "I don't think I can take you back to where I live at the moment. It's all guys and too crowded at the moment." Especially with weapons and war maps.

Asuka had always been able to detect his bullshit. "Yohji, I'm not going to be mad if you've found someone else."

"I haven't!" He looked round. They were nearly at the door of a nightclub he could now admit was sleazy and unpopular. There were few staff and fewer customers, and none of them near. "Asuka, love, I'm afraid I've got mixed up in some business that isn't exactly legit."

"A straight arrow like you?"

"I was pretty desperate when you were shot." He had no intention of telling her anything but the exact and full truth, but this wasn't the place to do it. It would take some believing. It took him some effort to believe it at times. "But the guys I work with won't be pleased to see you. Nor my employers." The later Manx heard about this the better, as far as he was concerned.

"What is your business?"

"Well, I work in a flower shop." He opened the door for her. A pity he hadn't brought the Seven, but he'd expected to get blind drunk.

"What can be crooked about that? A smokers' section in your greenhouse?"

"Er, not exactly. " Not that Manx wouldn't go along with it, anything to cut costs. And it would get them contacts with the drug world.

Ken would go postal.

He grinned. When she smiled back he was distracted just long enough for a couple of thugs to get closer than they should have.

One reached out to grasp his right arm. Yohji used his longer arm length to reach around and behind the other's. He grasped the back of his opponent's neck and squeezed. Yohji was strong enough to pull a heavier man up from the floor with his wire. The man's neck snapped in an instant.

The second man was trying to hold Asuka's arm. Asuka knew a lot about unarmed combat and the man went flying into Yohji, who brought his knee up. The dead man was still dropping when his free arm threw away the curled second. He looked alertly around for any others but they weren't there. Yohji felt slightly let down at such short odds. "You okay, Asuka?"

"'Course. You've got better at that sort of thing."

"Yes, well..." This nightclub might not be the most respectable, but they'd probably ask questions if they saw what was happening. Yohji slipped his arm around Asuka's shoulders. He'd been so wanting to do that. This time it was to hurry her along into the shadows. She stumbled. The shadows were strange to her. "You're coming along with me to the Koneko."

"It's safer, but I'm not sure they were after me."

It would be the first time a boyfriend had ever gone that far. He looked at her hurts again. "If they're not casual thugs it would be one hell of a coincidence. You're coming anyway." No one would send two men unarmed after Balinese.

"To the kitten?" She was small, but she'd never had much trouble keeping up with his long legs.

"That's the shop I work in."

She stopped dead. "Yohji, if you work for yakuza that's the last place I need to be."

Despite the bright street lights attack wasn't impossible. Most places in Tokyo a few killers could hit a man and be away before police arrived, as Yohji well knew. The subway was worse. "We're not yakuza." He looked around and chose the most average looking car he could find. He walked up to it and casually and quietly broke the lock. He looked round the inside. This was not the sort of car to be bugged or booby trapped, but he checked anyway.

She slid into the car after him. "So, if you're not yakuza, what are you?"

Making sure the car windows were closed. "Ever heard of an organisation called Kritiker?"

"No."

"Well, they - _we - _are on the side of the good guys, but use pretty dirty ways to show it."

Watching him sort through his picklocks her eyes widened. "Yohji, was this your car?"

"No."

"And used to be, you refused even to use a slug on the coke machines."

"I still do. Paying coke machines won't get me killed."

He ditched the car a couple of streets from the Koneko. He tried to keep an eye out for danger during their walk, but was distracted by Asuka. She was furious at him for getting mixed up in such a business and had no hesitation in letting him know it.

Ken had his own nights out. It was Kudoh luck this wasn't one, and he was sitting with Omi brooding over something on Omi's laptop. They showed no surprise to see Yohji enter with a pretty brunette. They were when he led her toward them rather than his bedroom.

"Omi Tsukiyono, Ken Hidaka, may I present Asuka Murase." He tried to sum up most of his life. "Asuka used to be my partner. She's still my partner."

Ken was distracted by having to mop health drink off his lap. "Good night, Murase-san," said Omi politely. "Or should it be morning, by now? I hope you're not too disappointed to find your partner working in a quiet little flower shop."

Asuka drew up a chair and sat facing Omi. Yohji had told her he was the brains, Ken the brawn and he himself the good looks. Asuka was a smart girl. She'd have no doubt about the first part. He'd also told Kritiker didn't like employing people they didn't own. "Tsukiyono-san, I've murdered someone. Yohji says you can help me. If not, Kritiker can."

Omi stared at her, then at Yohji, who spread his hands with a 'what-will-you?' expression. Any pretense at contrition was spoiled by the grin which kept breaking through. "Sorry, Omittchi, we're a set."

Omi asked carefully, "Murase-san, are you asking us for help to escape?"

"No, Tsukiyono-san. I'm asking for employment."

Ken entered the conversation. Cooler than Yohji would have expected, there was still a hard set in his jaw. "Okay, Omi's been saying we could use a fourth. You've killed someone. But can you kill people routinely, Asuka Murase?" He stood at Omi's right shoulder. His bright hazel eyes concealed nothing, and they missed nothing.

"Three nights ago I deliberately swung a metal rod at a woman's head intending to kill her. I was trying to save myself, but I would have done it to save another person. Yohji's told me what you guys are doing, and I can do it."

Omi bowed his head. "People don't do this if they have a choice. You do realise, Murase-san, you will be giving up that power to choose?"

"I choose to be with Yohji, even if it means I can no longer choose."

Omi looked at Ken.

Ken swung at her.

It was a swing that possibly might have hit a rheumatic grandfather if he'd been pasted down first. Asuka returned with equal restraint. They warmed up quickly.

Asuka was exceptionally good at unarmed combat for a civilian. She made Ken work in the last three minutes. When he knocked her on her backside, on her face, and into the sofa.

Finally Ken stepped back and nodded. "Okay. You've got the basics. You'll have to work on your speed, though."

Omi said, "We'll keep you out of the field until Ken passes you. You realise," he looked at them both, "Kritiker's going to check your background very thoroughly. Yohji's bare word won't be enough for them."

"Is it enough for you?" asked Asuka.

Omi looked at Yohji and nodded. "Yes." Well, almost, thought Yohji. He knew Omi would invent a cover story, for the fan girls, which would leave room for Asuka's sudden and permanent disappearance.

To Asuka, Bombay went on, "You're giving a lot of weight away, and you'll meet some good bare hand fighters. I suggest you also try to learn my crossbow. I'm using the handbow now, it's quicker to draw, but the crossbow is better for someone with less upper arm strength." He offered his hand.

* * *

Isao Kawaji finally left his dirty, dead end work. He endured the socialising with his boring, Philistine work mates until he barely had time to make it to the interview with the music publisher.

His car had been stolen. With all the tapes in it.

Even if the police recovered the car, he might never get that vital interview again. Not for months of waiting, of work he despised, of work mates he despised.

Okay, that was it. He could have offered a unique and important contribution to the music industry, but they'd have to do without him. He was going back to the family business in Okinawa.


	4. Ouka

The ferry at the far end of the pier glided away on schedule. One way or the other, Aya had decided whether to go or stay.

Hoping the neon lights of the harbour would not catch her, Ouka crouched on the edge of the pier and whistled softly.

She waited for a few long moments. Just when she thought Aya must have gone back to Hokkaido with her mother and brother, she caught a very soft plashing heading toward her. From the water Aya-chan's voice whispered her name.

If Ouka wondered whether she'd done the right thing in helping Aya duck out of the trip back to Hokkaido, she could reassure herself the other girl would have done it anyway. It was the first time in her life Ouka had met someone she couldn't out-stubborn.

It wouldn't be necessary if Fujimiya's mother hadn't suddenly announced their departure five days before Ouka and Aya expected. They could have done a lot with a whole week. But for some reason – Ouka thought it had something to do with Jaeger-san – Mrs Fujimiya had suddenly announced they were off that very night. The two girls were simply obliged to resort to desperate measures.

Ouka helped Aya flop herself out of the water. It was a rather noisy process, and they froze for a minute, trying to check if anyone had heard them. Aya scrambled into the dry clothes Ouka handed her. That was rather noisy too, and Ouka shushed her a couple of times.

Breathless from both swimming and excitement, Aya whispered, "I made a bundle of my clothes in my bed just like the comics! I told nii-san I needed a long sleep, so he won't disturb me till the ferry docks at Hakodate."

They scrambled up to the road level. With a giddy sense of step one accomplished, they held hands and giggled.

Ouka had never had a best friend before. She liked it.

Best friends weren't just sucking up to a richer girl when they listened to your troubles. They sympathised about how that dreadful American seemed to be corrupting your father, and tempting him into crooked ways. They understood your worries about your elder brothers, and even found practical suggestions. At least practical to a sheltered sixteen year old. They offered to help you, while you helped them to clear their father's name and revenge him.

Still holding hands, Ouka and Aya-chan crept off on their crusade.

* * *

"Your father's still alive," Aya had said. "Besides, Tousan wasn't killed by some stranger, not with that fake suicide note."

They'd looked at each other and nodded. Ouka spoke for both, "If Fujimiya-san had found out something about Crawford and was going to tell Tousan..."

So now they were breaking into Crawford's office. It was easy even for rank amateurs. Hard worker though he was, Crawford had left long before two in the morning, and the few security guards were sure of their police protection.

Ouka triumphantly produced two pairs of rubber gloves. "Bravo, Ouka!" said Aya-chan, who'd obviously never thought of them.

Ouka said smugly, "I think I've a real knack."

They sailed into the unguarded office. An hour or so later they weren't feeling quite so pleased with themselves. It must have been much easier in the old days when everything wasn't on password protected disks.

"I've got a new boyfriend who knows _everything_ about computers!" said Ouka. "We can bring him in tomorrow night if we can't find anything tonight."

Aya looked up, not noticing she'd bumped Crawford's antacids into his fax machine. "Will it be safe?"

"They won't be expecting us to come back the very next night. That would be a crazy thing to do!"

Nor had Crawford made things easier by writing the more private stuff in English and German. Ouka tried to put things back the way they'd found it. Aya whispered, "We'll have to take some stuff anyway."

"No, we won't." Ouka proudly displayed her tiny camera.

"Cool! Where'd'you get it?"

"Tousan gave it to me." Her voice faltered. "He didn't even ask me why I wanted it!" Not so irrelevantly, "I hate Crawford!"

Ouka laid out everything she thought interesting for the camera and went back for more. She wasn't sure she could put everything back exactly, but after all Crawford was a man, and would probably never notice.

Crawford didn't have a girlie magazine in a bottom drawer like the stories. In fact at first she couldn't find anything personal. Ouka had just decided this proved he must be up to something when Aya called out, "A map!"

Immediately afterward Ouka said, "A little black book!"

Aya said, "_All_ men have little black books."

Ouka pouted. Crawford was the villain. His little black book had to have some importance. Looking contrite, Aya said hastily, "Never mind. We can use it if there's nothing else. But I'm sure this map means something."

Ouka didn't want to hurt her feelings, but she felt if the map meant much it would have been on disk. "It's just a standard Tokyo road map."

"Yes, but..." Aya tossed it and let it fall open on the table. It was a heavy map, and knocked several important looking pieces of paper to the floor, but both girls were too excited to notice. "Look, it falls open on some place outside Tokyo proper."

"The beach! Why should he be interested in the beach? It's nothing to do with work."

"Maybe he likes the beach," objected Aya feebly. But Ouka checked the map again. It had pencil markings on several pages right on the shoreline. There was writing, too. She wailed, "Hasn't he been in Japan long enough to learn kanji?"

Aya brightened slightly. She'd sometimes helped Ran with his English homework and at least knew the alphabet. "Let's see it." She read out the English words. "Full tide five feet..."

Ouka dived for Crawford's English-Japanese dictionary.

They puzzled out that Crawford had been recording sea depth and tide height around the Greater Tokyo Bay area. Some of the figures were repeated in the notebook . "Told you so," said Aya.

There were some astrological notes they recognised from other schoolgirls's notebooks. The odder notations, with occasional mention of moon, sunset, and sunrise, must relate to navigation.

"He must be a smuggler," Ouka beamed. "I can take this to Tousan and he'll see..." She looked at Aya and they laughed ruefully.

Aya suggested, "That he's a very careful sea bather?" She flickered through the otherwise blank pages of the notebook. She showed Ouka one didn't look as smooth as the others. "I think there was a list of names and addresses written on the page above."

Of course Crawford's modern office wouldn't have a pencil. Still, Ouka would have plenty at home. They'd just have to hope Crawford didn't notice the notebook was missing.

"His smuggling contacts," agreed Ouka. "But, really, Aya, what do we do with it? Knock on the door, and ask them to tell Tousan about their smuggling?"

"We could take this to the police. I'm sure they'd do something."

Ouka wailed, "We can't go to the police!" In explanation, "Uncle Shuichi!"

Aya had obviously been raised to respect the police. "I'm sure the police won't hold a crooked uncle against us."

"Uncle Shuichi is the National Police Agency Commissioner General."

"Well, that's good."

"And he and Tousan hate each other. I think it's on account of that awful woman."

"Ouka-chan?"

"Well, Tousan can't have loved her. And if she'd divorced him, my parents would be living happily together. Instead of Tousan getting mixed up with American crooks."

Aya looked impressed. She and Ouka had been best friends for days, and she hadn't known this important fact about her. "She's a bad woman? Maybe she'll divorce your father if he gets involved in scandal."

"Kaasan says she was to be pitied. She was a weak, clingy woman. She killed herself when her youngest son died." For the first time it occurred to Ouka that might explain something about her two brothers. She soon dismissed the thought. They were unpleasant guys, and that was that. "Kaasan wouldn't marry Tousan afterward because she didn't want to be a politician's wife." The thought it might not be Kikuno's fault Ouka's parents were unmarried hung on determinedly. She shoved it to the back of her mind. "Anyway, Tousan would rather anything than let Uncle Shuichi rescue him. Anything," she repeated unhappily. She didn't like remembering how ruthless her beloved Tousan was.

"Well, I'm sure we'll find something to do." The two tried to hide the signs of their search. Surely he wouldn't notice unless he was already suspicious, and why should he be? Unless he missed the notebook. And why should he think it was stolen? Ouka was always losing notebooks, and _she _didn't think they were stolen.

Being in Tokyo they didn't need to go home to get a pencil, which was a good thing, since they would probably have burst with suspense. They had a refreshing quarter of an hour in the arts shop and came out laden with stuff they assured each other was bound to come in useful. Among them were pencils.

"Gosh," said Ouka. "It does work. Just like the spy movies."

"I know that," said Aya. "I used it on nii-san's Japanese homework when he had to compose poetry. I had lots of fun quoting the stuff at him." She smirked. "He wasn't that bad at poetry, you know." Her expression softened. "I hope he and Kaasan aren't too worried."

"You could send a telegram to Hokadate for when they arrive."

Aya beamed. "That's a great idea! Can you lend me the money? I haven't any."

* * *

"If only," Ouka groused, "Crawford had bothered to put their telephone numbers." She settled down against the wall, and let Aya take her turn at a strained position craning her neck out of the emergency stairwell.

Interestingly enough none of the exact names with similar addresses were in the telephone book, though often the same family name. The girls supposed it was criminal etiquette. Don't make it too easy for the cops to find you. They decided it was best to deal face to face with at least one, provided he wasn't living in an abandoned warehouse or something. They reminded each other to be very careful about being alone with serious criminals, which gave them a pleasant feeling of common sense for five minutes and then they forgot.

The nearest address turned out to be a poky little flat in a sinister looking block of flats. They watched it for several hours, but no one at all came in or out.

"Stay here," said Ouka abruptly. They couldn't very well spend all day here, could they? She was going to be in enough trouble missing school for a morning, and she still had to make contact with Omi. Persuading the law-abiding Omi to engage in even the mildest breaking and entering was going to take most of the afternoon. "Cell okay?"

Aya nodded. "I bet they don't come out till night."

Ouka raced down to where she could get a wallet, and with extra amounts of charm and cheek had it inscribed the name of the man they were after. She rushed back and found Aya chewing her nails. "It took me ages to kick the habit," she told Ouka, "and here I am again."

"Stay here," Ouka told her. "if they grab me, go for the police." She advanced toward the flat and knocked.

It was opened by a woman who looked as if she'd had a hard life and wasn't expecting it to get better. She squinted suspiciously at Ouka.

Ouka was surprised at how hard it was to smile at that face, but managed it. "Could I speak to Koichi Inadome-san? I found his wallet - "

"You vicious little cow! Drop dead!"

The door slammed in Ouka's startled face.

She returned to Aya, subdued. No adult had ever cursed her like that before. "What do we do now?"

"We can ask the super," suggested Aya-chan.

"He's probably in it too," muttered Ouka, but her heart wasn't in it. The woman's anger had felt like bare flame.

When they got to the man's office Aya said, "My turn!" and advanced and knocked. Ouka stayed poised, ready to come to her aid.

The building supervisor looked innocuous, even pleasant. Aya-chan smiled at him and said, "I'm sorry to bother you. It's about the woman in 402."

"Ah, yes, poor Inadome-san."

"Has she just lost someone?" Perhaps the list of names was of victims?

"Not so much that. But there was an American doctor came round lately promising he could help her son. And then he says things aren't just right, and disappears."

"Help him? How?"

"I'm not a doctor."

"Could you tell me what's wrong with Koichi Inadome?'

"He's severely retarded. A vegetable. Been like that from infancy. But, sorry, what were you wanting help about?"

Ouka helped Aya-chan away. Once they were out of the building, which the girls now thought sad-looking, Ouka got out her cell phone and began calling.

Every legible name and address was that of someone who, for some reason or another, had no mind whatever.

Hanging up on the last one, shivering, for some of those calls had been pretty harrowing, Ouka said, "What in the world could Crawford want with that sort of people?" She blinked at Aya, and saw her friend was also trying valiantly to stifle a yawn. "We better get some sleep. Perhaps when we wake up the answer'll be staring us in the face."

Aya didn't seem to feel optimistic about that. Also about, "Um...your mother won't mind..."

"You heard her, anytime you're back in Tokyo. Kaasan means what she says."

Having taken the subway, the pair walked, rather droopy, through the deserted suburban streets to Ouka's home. They were suffering from bafflement. In addition Aya was trying to stifle thoughts of her brother and mother's distress, while Ouka was wondering the best way to persuade Omi to break into Crawford's office.

They were so wrapped up in these thoughts they never noticed they weren't alone until Aya was grabbed.

* * *

Crawford entered his office and growled. He was never sorrier that his talent very seldom showed him anything other than short range visions. He'd have liked to have seen himself throttling whoever did this.

He strode over to the fax machine. There was some highly restricted stuff due in from Rosenkreuz. He reached and at a brief flash of sight withdrew his hand. Was this some politicking from the Elders?

He lifted the in-house phone for security, then paused. He didn't need precognition to see the reception of a report his own office had been broken into would get. Anyway, it might well have been them.

He did have to call Takatori's most trusted electronics engineer. When he arrived Crawford told him, "The fax machine needs to go to the shop."

"With all respect, Crawford-san, if you know as much about them as me, why did you call me?" The engineer flipped on the machine and it made a small fizzing explosion. A panel fell onto the engineer's foot. "It needs to go to the shop."


	5. Ken

Ken was glad for Yohji, he really was. The older man was happy. He was also less obnoxious and harder working. Asuka saw to that. Ken wasn't sure he wanted that sort of marriage for himself, but obviously Yohji did.

Still, it had its drawbacks. The main ones wore uniforms. Though Yohji's hardcore fans had withdrawn in sulks at his marriage, some had simply transferred their affections. Omi was too different, and it looked as if he also would shortly be unavailable, so Ken was the lucky guy. It did his temper no good at all. He found himself wanting to shout at the fangirls to get out.

Immediately after one crowded shift, he went running. He'd have preferred to take out his temper on some luckless punch bag at the gym, but he was on suspension for the last time. He ran a long time, and wasn't pleased to find himself beginning to sweat. The assassin's life kept you fit, but it was more of short bursts of extreme effort than the sustained hours of pro soccer. It didn't improve Ken's temper to think how hard he'd find the end of a pro game.

He was soothed as always by physical effort, and the streets he'd chosen to run were pleasantly empty of human life, or even schoolgirls. He'd just realised he was near Ouka's when he turned a corner and saw her, and another schoolgirl. And a man who seemed to be throttling the other schoolgirl.

Even as he accelerated, he noticed a few things. Such as Ouka not fighting or running. Such as, though the man's hands were holding her throat, the other schoolgirl was talking without difficulty. But it was too good a chance to relieve some of his anger.

He hit the redheaded guy hard enough to knock him off his feet and knelt on his chest with his fist drawn back to settle it.

With most it would have, but the other guy had enough speed to deflect his fist. It landed on the ground; he then punched up into Ken's groin. Ken managed to squirm aside so it wasn't as damaging as it could have been, but it still hurt. He tried to punch the guy's throat. It landed on the jaw, hard enough so it should have knocked him out.

The redhead was still fighting, though. Ken vaguely heard female voices telling someone to stop something, but he was more interested in bracing himself against the hard midriff blows the redhead was managing. The two men ricocheted off a lamp post into someone's koi pond. At the douse of sobering cold water, they tried to drown each other.

"Don't!" shrieked Ouka, and Ken flinched enough so the piece of pipe aimed for his head hit his shoulder. He sprang away from the redhead and turned to meet the new threat.

Ouka's arms were around his neck. In fact she half strangled him. She was saying nonsensical things such as they were all friends. Ken didn't even know the guy's name.

He pulled himself out of Siberian's simple kill-or-be-killed world. He cast one regetful look at the redhead. The guy'd been lucky so far. Well, he admitted, lucky and good. But Ken would have settled him with one good punch, and he was pretty sure that punch was the next one. Still, Ouka didn't deserve to be frightened.

He turned to her and said, "Sorry, Ouka-chan." Looking at the redhead still sitting among koi, with a dazed expression on his face, Ken decided he'd won on points and sloshed forward to help him up. "Sorry, mate, I - "

No hard feelings. He'd seen it before, someone too dazed to realise the fight was over. Nonetheless, he was rather glad he'd had an excuse to get that K-O in.

Both girls helped him pull the redhead out of the water and put all the fish back in. Ouka said, "Ken-san, this is Aya Fujimiya. And her brother, Ran. He was worried about her."

Ken thought the other way round would be more appropriate, but the redhead shook himself awake soon enough. He brushed aside Ken's next start of an apology. "You were trying to help Aya. That excuses anything in my book." He turned to his sister. "Can we talk privately?"

Ouka said firmly, "I think we better go home and get you into dry clothes first." Ran glanced down at his clothes in surprise, as if he thought being wet didn't really rate that much. Ouka also suggested Ken come and dry off. Ken accepted more graciously than Ran.

On the squelching walk back to her home, Ouka told him enough about the Fujimiyas to make him decide to cut the guy some slack.

It being the middle of the afternoon, Ouka wanted to treat her friends to tea in the almost empty dining room, but Mrs Sakaki was firm. If they wanted to use the dining room in open hours they would dress right. And behave right, she added, with a look at the boys. It was fairly sunny, and they could sit on the patio in the back, which was not yet opened for the summer.

"But don't speak loudly enough to disturb the guests," she said. Ouka agreed in a tone showing she'd heard all this a dozen times before, and brought out some obscure European dish for her friends.

Ken was apprehensive about what was in it, but that didn't stop him from eating. All four of them concentrated on food for a few moments. Ken was just coming down from the first feeding frenzy when he realised he could hear the conversation of the people on the inside of the restaurant wall. He was warm and relaxed, and he was glad it was nothing more private than some obscure business. He was about to thank Ouka for the meal, when he heard another voice through the wall.

"Are you all right, Ken?" asked Ouka.

Ken made his voice hoarse. "Yes, I'm fine. I swallowed a - " the trouble with putting on a sore throat is it does hurt your throat. Ken's cough was genuine. "A fish bone."

"There aren't any fish in there. They're hardboiled eggs."

Thank God for that.

A very small mercy. He heard someone fumbling at the window and pointed to Ran, mouthing "Call him Ken!" The real Ken hid himself by huddling directly under the window sill.

By the time the window was open, Ouka was slapping Ran enthusiastically on the back, telling him to hold his breath and should she get a drink of water. "That's it, Ken! No one ever died of hiccups."

Aya-chan gave a small noise that sounded rather like a hiccup itself.

It _was_ Kase's voice. A hundred strong memories suddenly overwhelmed Ken. In Kase's smoothly bullyng way it said, "Could you kids go and choke somewhere else?"

"Going, going," said Ouka. Bless all three of them. None of them looked at him, as odd a sight as he must have been.

At a sharp blast of early spring westerly, several people called out to Kase to close the window, which he did. Then the other three looked at Ken. He motioned them away with a scowl strong enough so none of them lingered, though Ran gave him a scowl in return.

Now Ken listened, but if there'd been anything either interesting or enlightening he'd missed it.

After quarter of an hour or so Ken had decided Asia Construction must be the most boring business in Japan. Did they have to fawn quite so blatantly on this Koga-san? Kase didn't show up well in such company. Ken had always known Kase had a weakness for flattery, but you overlook that sort of thing in your best friend.

He automatically began flexing fingers and toes to stop them stiffening. He'd had to wait indefinitely in cold, uncomfortable places before. It was an important part of his job.

At long last the toadies trickled out, leaving Kase with Koga-san. Kase said to Koga, "So, shall I collect the protection money from the manager before I go?"

'Oh, Kase, what have they done to you?'

Koga said, "This place has connections. We leave it alone. But you better go and give old Nihira a serious talk. I don't want to put pressure on the guy, crippled hero and all. But he's forcing it on me."

"Of course, Koga-san," said Kase in exactly the same tone with which he used to accept their coach's orders.

Ken raced around to the front entrance. Even on a mission he'd never been faster.

Having left the restaurant, Kase and Koga parted amiably. Kase walked Koga to his vintage Torrino. When the car had driven off noisily, he turned back to his chrome Bugatti. He did a double take on seeing Ken which Ken should have found funny. Ken wasn't finding much funny just then.

Kase actually had to touch him before he was convinced. Well, partly convinced. "You're – not dead?"

"I thought you were, too. I would've told you if I knew you were still alive." It only now occurred to Ken to wonder if Kritiker had known. "How did you escape?"

Kase touched him again and then gave him a hug. Finally, "I can't remember really. I was all beat up and dazed. But an undercover cop got me away. The cops got me into Creepers undercover, and I've been working for them ever since."

"The cops? Not Kritiker?"

Kase looked pensive for a moment, as if he was trying to place the name. Then he shook his head. "I've never heard of Kritiker. Who's he?"

"An ignorant old cuss. He was sure you were dead." After all, why should Kritiker have known? "This is great! And you're doing important work. A lot more important than soccer." Kase seemed a bit dubious. Ken wasn't surprised. He was more than a bit dubious himself. He tried to emphasise his point, "You know, Kase, I sometimes wondered if you were cut out for the game. I mean, you're great at the strategy and politics, but I think you could have applied them just as well to something else." Seeing Kase was apparently at a loss for words, for once, he slapped his shoulder and said, "Hey, but it's all water under the bridge, right?"

"Right."

"And God, and all His little kamis know there were enough times we were glad you were out there on the field with us. Do you remember..." Slinging his arm around Kase's shoulders, Ken led him to a bar where Verdys had often celebrated their wins. From there they zigzagged a path through as many of their old haunts and old memories as could be got into half an afternoon and a long spring evening. Quite a lot of this involved stop offs at bars. Kase began bragging, as he did when he was drunk. A couple of times rival teams had learned important information that way. Taka's claim Kase had sold them the information was silly, of course.

Ken became quiet and depressed, which wasn't so usual.

Eventually they ended up at Kase's flat.

"Impressive," remarked Ken, using his concentration to place his shoes straight in a getabako that was reddish gilt and yellow-green lacquer.

Kase shrugged. "Hey, I gotta play the part, y'know." He certainly seemed less drunk than Ken at the moment. "How 'bout a nightcap?"

Ken contemplated this proposal with more intensity than a sober man might have felt it needed. "I've already drunk a lot."

"A little. A middling little. Not a lot."

While Ken tried to work out when it crossed over to a lot, Kase went and poured two cups. "Pure rice sake, this."

Ken sniffed it. In the last bar he'd managed to stick to beer, and his stomach cringed at the change. "So you think this case will get you promotion." Kase had hinted at several impressive sounding cases, but for obvious reasons Ken was concentrating on one. "This crime lord's personal death squad?"

"Genji Koga's small fry. We use him as a shtalk - as a shdock – as a decoy. I'm prime for any really big case. We're after them. We'll get them. Th'shief said to me, 'I c'n rely on _you_, Kase'." Kase preened. "He can. I get what I'm after."

Ken said, "I'm sorry, Kase." He was. Desperately sorry. But he had to choose between his team and an old friend, and it really looked like no choice at all.

If Kase had been a bit less drunk himself, he might have been surprised at the sudden sobriety with which Ken stood and approached. He was muttering into his untouched cup, "Just drink up an' it'll be all righ' again." Ken didn't know what he meant. He rather doubted Kase did either.

Ken hadn't his bugnuks, but he'd never had an easier kill.

Ken left Kase at ease in his armchair. It might be assumed that he'd choked on the extra strong sake.

Which Kase had never touched. Most unlike him.

Ken looked at the spill from Kase's cup, which was a most unhealthy colour. Then he picked up his own cup and sniffed it.

It was easier, somehow, now he knew Kase had been faced with the same choice, and chosen the same way.

He bowed to the corpse as one does to an honourable enemy, and left the room, not forgetting to wipe his fingerprints from the door.


	6. Sumiko

The key turned smoothly and quietly. The door opened just far enough for two bodies to slip through. It was closed and locked with the deft speed of long practice.

Mrs Fujimiya remembered the practice her children had, sneaking out on not too serious mischief. She cleared her throat and switched on the light.

They blinked around at the small, Western furnished dining room until they saw her. Ran said, "We didn't want to wake anyone..." Seeing she wasn't listening but looking at her daughter, he patted Aya's shoulder, gently urging her towards her mother, and left them together.

Aya was so excited she couldn't stop grinning, "Omi found something on Crawford's computer – he's awful good – Omi, I mean – Takatori said something about getting rid of the Fujimiya problem and Crawford said he would and he said on the _seventh_ and that was when - " She blinked against the light and focused back on her mother. At once she stopped talking.

Sumiko Fujimiya stood still. There were a lot of emotions roiling around inside her, and she'd frozen them until she knew how to express them.

Aya seemed to think Sumiko's blank face for anger. "Oka-san, I apologise for all the anxiety I've caused you."

"But not for – first running away without any money, Ayan! And now burglary!"

Aya drew herself up to her full height. "I had to. You were sick. Nii-san was busy looking after you. Someone had to look out for my father! He always looked out for us."

It was as obvious and warming as daybreak. Kaito Fujimiya was an honest man, but he also put first his responsibilities to his family. Sumiko had been hating herself for the pleasure she'd taken in their new, rich life in Tokyo, blaming her own blindness for her husband's need to take just a little money. Aya had just absolved her. Kaito might, if really desperate, leave her, but he would never desert his children. Never. She'd been trying to live with being the widow of a man who'd given into temptation, when all the time..."He was murdered, then. He really was."

Aya looked shocked. It had never occurred to her otherwise. But she nodded without any doubt. Not until Aya smiled back did Sumiko realise she was smiling.

Sumiko gave her daughter a hug hard enough to make her squeak, then said, "Aya-chan, if you were a child, you'd have done well. But you're grown up enough to follow this long, boring process we call law..." She remembered how Ran had rather admired his sister's cheek and decided the lecture had better be addressed to both. "Where did your brother go?"

"He went out." Suddenly they looked at each other in horror. "He went back out."

Sumiko Fujimiya knew her son. He wasn't the type to be content with prowling around an empty office.

Aya-chan ran to the outer door. "Late night traffic and speeding, we can - "

"Wait!" Sumiko heard a noise in the corridor outside and made a warning gesture. Almost whispering, "He's already got a lead on us. Any fuss we make will cut down his chances of getting away."

"But, Kaasan! What chance does he have?"

Against a professional bodyguard, no doubt armed? "None. We just have to hope he realises that in time and gets out alive."

"The police might rescue him."

"They're more likely to shoot him."

The inner door opened, and Ouka came through. For once she wasn't smiling. When she saw their serious faces, she would have assumed their interview had gone much as her talk with her mother had. "Uh, Aya? I guess we're both reformed?" She smiled at Sumiko with a charm more self conscious than usual. "I know we've been lucky. Mum explained what could happen to us before Tousan got us out." She looked guiltily at Aya. Mrs Sakaki would have weighed in pretty heavily worse things could happen to Aya than Ouka.

Aya didn't hesitate. "Oh, Ouka! Ran's gone to kill Crawford!"

Ouka's eyes lit up. Just killing Crawford had the satisfying simplicity of genius. Indeed, though she was serious about Omi, maybe she had a brief pang as she wished _he_'d be able to come up with ideas like that. Then she looked dismayed. "If Tousan's there, he could get hurt!"

"No, no!" Aya-chan ran to her. "Ran wouldn't hurt your father!"

Ouka relaxed. "He and Crawford are both home by now." Now was three in the morning, and the Fujimiya women had to admit she was probably right. "Does Ran know where Crawford lives?"

Aya said unhappily, "The office did have his home address. The rest of us didn't think it mattered."

Sumiko said briskly, "Ran's not an idiot. Likely he'll just scout round the first night. He knows he can't revenge his father if he's dead." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, convincing herself. Aya and Ouka cheered up as well.

Still, it was a long three hours, that wait. Mrs Sakaki's hotel was quite busy, and there was some traffic even in the dead of night. Every time a car drove near, or they heard a footfall, they'd expect it to be Ran. And every time it wasn't. Not until after six in the morning did the door open, so silently the two nearly sleeping girls missed it until Sumiko stood up.

While they were blinking awake and uncurling themselves from the couch, Sumiko studied her son. She said, "Well, Ran's back. You can go to bed."

"At six in the morning?" Ouka protested.

"That's how you've chosen to live. Now steal back to your coffins before the sun catches you."

The two girls made noises that tried to combine giggles and yawns. Aya was just awake enough to ask, "You didn't kill anyone?" When he shook his head, they returned to their beds like rather bouncy vampires.

When she was sure the girls were safely out of hearing, Sumiko said, "That bloody German, I suppose."

"Yes."

"I'll have him doing hard time for life."

"It wasn't rape."

Sumiko remembered hard blue eyes and a sneer. "I'm sure he was a perfect gentleman."

"That's between him and me."

* * *

Schuichi Takatori looked around. Everything was just right for an elegant, luxurious and traditional Japanese tea room. It was the sort of room to make a Takatori feel very nouveau riche. In it, in their best clothes, was Reiji Takatori's mistress, his daughter, his daughter's boyfriend, best friend and _her_ brother and mother. It was the sort of room to make Schuichi Takatori very nervous.

Mrs Fujimiya bowed to him and passed him a cup of tea with the grace of a geisha. "I'm so grateful to you for taking the time off from your incredibly busy schedule. One murder must seem very petty to the National Commissioner."

Schuichi sipped his tea politely. "With all due respect, Fujimiya-san, it was ruled a suicide." He wondered if Omi getting so close to Ouka was a good thing or a bad thing. Something might have to be done about Ouka. At least she was a nice, safe girlfriend for him.

"I mean no slur on the competence or honesty of the police when I say that in this instance they were wrong."

Schuichi meant no offense when he asked, "But what leads you to - ?"

The Fujimiya boy snarled, "My father was an honest man! The cops were fools to ignore that!" For a second the smooth atmosphere crumpled like old paper.

Schuichi looked at him impassively. The boy would have been just perfect. Experience in kendo, a grudge against the Takatori family, no Tokyo connections...Too late now. He was in with Reiji's slut and bastard.

He waved aside Mrs Fujimiya's apologies. "Unfortunately even honest men can succumb to temptation, if they think it's safe. At least your father regretted it afterward." He'd have given a lot for Saijou to have ever felt regrets.

"No, Ran!"

Shuichi realised his shoulder was hurting, and blinked at the boy sitting again in perfect seiza.

Fast, too.

* * *

Ran was allowed to earn his keep, and Aya helped around the house much as Ouka did, but Mrs Sakiko had insisted the Fujimiyas have a good and private suite. Sumiko had slept well in the large Western bed.

Dressed, she was sitting looking into the dressing table mirror. She rubbed off the heavy make up with which she'd hidden the grey colour of her face, she took the varnish off her nails, she took off any colour. For a few minutes she sat breathing quietly, hiding away Sumiko, and leaving only the widow. When Ran came into the room, he went white and hurried toward her.

"It's okay," she told him. "I'm just getting ready for a tea party." Ran looked a bit surprised, but offered to call her a taxi. Sumiko assured him she had that, too, arranged. "Do you know, Ran, there are Hokkaido provincials almost everywhere, in almost every business? It's something Aya-chan should keep in mind, that she has a lot of remote cousins even in Tokyo. Where is she, by the way?"

"Aya's out with Ouka, boy watching in that flower shop."

"Fair enough, for now." Her talk with Aya should be more detailed anyway. "It's more urgent to tell you there can't be any more of last night's cowboying." She turned round and looked at him, her voice flattening. "I need you at my back. Keep your mouth shut, your eyes open. Learn about your enemy and make allies."

Ran scowled. "_Aya_ did a lot more than that!"

Sumiko looked at him in exasperation. Were both her kids going to descend to ten-year-old level? "She acted like a child. I need you to act like a man." She saw the familiar signs of Ran struggling for self control and waited patiently. "I know it's the hardest thing I can ask of you. But it's necessary. For a while I need you to lead a stainless life. You will be under scrutiny, just like a political candidate. Work as hard as possible, never fail in manners. Public and private. Don't discuss religion or politics or anything that might be quoted against you. If anyone invites you to a whorehouse don't accept, but don't offend in declining. Any lapse will be seized on."

Ran gave her an measuring look. "I know you don't like my having anything to do with Schul- Jaeger. This isn't just a way to get me to get rid of him?"

She looked very like Ran in her own effort at self control. "I consider it a bonus." She admitted, "If Takatori's man comes after you, we can use that. But I'd rather he didn't. Your business is to be the perfect young Japanese. I'm not asking you to let your sword rust."

By his faint smile, he knew quite well she was appealing to his romanticism. "And Aya?"

"I'm asking for marvels, but not miracles."

He glanced away. Then he looked her in the eye and agreed.

She could tell when one of her kids was lying to her. "Ran! I'll have your precious Jaeger arrested."

"You mustn't even try."

* * *

"You're sure you don't mind us using the shop bike?"

Sumiko told him, "It's perfect."

Omi looked at Sumiko, dressed in the most formal mourning clothes. Without actually being Japanese, the clothes gave a Japanese impression. 'How do they _do_ that?' Omi wondered. The clothes had obviously been most expensive, but had been worn thin. Then he looked at the shop bike. So very cheap, so very casual, so very..."It's pink," he told her.

"Pink is good," she said. She had a charming smile. Looking at the bike, she was smiling now.

He drove her to the front of one of the poshest private houses outside the Imperial grounds. Parking attendants were dealing with limousines, sports cars, an occasional vintage car. The bike had never felt so pink.

The most junior of the parking attendants approached with an expression suitable for someone who should be parking a Rolls Royce and gets a pink bike. "Your vehicle, madam?"

"My lift. And thank you, Omi."

"Not at all," said Omi. "Give me a call if you need me."

* * *

Crawford put the receiver down very, very carefully. He was beyond exasperation now.

"That is the fifth lot of suppliers who regret they must postpone delivery." Normally the last thing Reiji Takatori would have used his high priced bodyguards on was inventory, but at the moment it was the most important thing on his mind.

Schuldig obviously didn't like being the focus of that ruthless gaze. "But surely they have to pay default for that?"

"Surely. And their insurance covers that, if they can prove it wasn't malice or negligence, and I have a feeling they can."

Schuldig was so still Crawford knew he wanted to fidget. "Do you want me to go and put the frighteners on them?" They'd learned by now the person initialing the delay or non-delivery didn't know anything.

Frightening them wasn't much use either, but it made Takatori feel better.

Crawford shook his head. Scaring one or two might be exemplary, but this was too wide spread. At least one of the victims was likely to involve the police. Schuichi with an excuse to harass his brother...Crawford's headache jabbed again.

* * *

author's note: the elder Fujikmiyas' names Sumiko and Kaito are taken from golden_bastet's 'Fiction for Mac Lynn' (on her livejournal) which readers will enjoy.


	7. Masafumi

Reiji Takatori didn't want to hear Masafumi's recital how his skills and drugs had helped his father's career, his brother's hobbies, and even his grandfather's rule of his backwood estate. Least of all, on the green of his favourite and most exclusive golf club.

In mid diatribe Masafumi found himself dangling several inches above the ground, the front of his jacket collar gradually tightening across his throat. The American thug's accented voice was smooth. "Shall I throw him out, Mr Takatori?"

"Only if he continues to act like a spoiled brat." To Masafumi, whose normal pallor was now highly flushed, "Will you?" Masafumi managed to shake his head and Crawford dropped him at his father's feet.

Masafumi staggered to his feet, rubbing his throat and scowling in a less sneering way than usual. For a minute he'd been reminded of when he was the nerdy little kid who got bullied in school, especially the sort of school their father chose for them. He almost expected the American to sneer, 'What an ugly little thing you are! And what a sniveller!'

Takatoris had little else to commend them, but they did seem to run to a brutal courage. Masafumi was the one exception. His schoolmates had found that out quickly, and delighted in rubbing it in.

His father's voice brought him back to the present. "It's my money. I can cut you off if I want. As it is, Takatori Enterprises has hit a rough patch. I have to cut down as much as possible. After all, you don't _need_ such high expenses now."

That only made Masafumi scowl the harder. Neu was an ungrateful bitch. She'd have died in the gutter without him. Schoen was worse, taking off with Tot because they hadn't the guts to watch him experiment on reviving the corpse of their team mate. Hel had been the only really loyal one. She'd have approved.

He looked around at their surroundings. Reiji Takatori's favourite golf club wasn't the sort of place you'd go to cut down expenses. One of their twee little cocktails cost as much as a restaurant meal. For a second, he contemplated spiking the drinks in this place with one of his experiments. Enjoyable and informative at the same time. The redheaded bodyguard smirked. "Herr Takatori has to keep up appearances, most of all now."

Earlier, Reiji had insisted on talking to Masafumi at the golf club. Masafumi had thought this was simply because his father liked playing golf. Now, he wondered if it was because in a Takatori office, there were far too many ears attached to loose mouths. That had been something he'd been working on. He looked speculatively at the redheaded bodyguard. After all, he had experience now. It would take so little to turn this insolent gaijin into someone completely loyal.

His father repeated, patiently for Reiji, "Your turn."

Masafumi scowled at the club he'd taken at random from the bag and swung it viciously at the ball. He didn't see why they couldn't settle down and talk in that nice sunny bunker. He'd spent enough time in it. But his father wanted to play golf. Next time he hit the ball.

He'd already hit his father, other players, most hazards within quarter of a mile, and on one occasion the ball had ricocheted back and hit him in the stomach. This time it seemed to go in approximately the right direction. Damn fast, too.

"Playing one!" he said.

"That was the club head," said the redhead. "The ball is still there."

Masafumi threw the abbreviated club to the ground and stamped on it. "I don't know why you insist on my playing. You know I've never had any knack for games." Masafumi Takatori considered human games a complete waste of time, and most human beings. Living their little, programmed lives; they wasted their little, programmed emotions on pleasures and creeds and each other. While beneath all this was the real world. Eternal, impersonal. And Science, to control it.

"I know," said Reiji, looking like a koala who's bitten on a bad eucalyptus leaf. "If I hadn't allowed you to skip all games in order to concentrate on your science class, you might be - "

"I bet you're not cutting back Hiro's expenses!" Hirofumi, the strong, handsome, elder son, who laughed at his Science, played games with killing people, and called that reality.

"Hiro's supporting himself. He might use family assets, but that's another thing."

Hirofumi might be the favoured elder, but Masafumi knew he himself was the true Takatori. Hiro might play viciously and successfully at his games, but Masafumi had the Takatori knack for focusing on one thing and following through with it to the death. Other people's death. "The things I'm working on make Takatori Enterprises look like a child's playpen."

For a moment Reiji Takatori's face reflected his son's greed, then he shook his head. "Whatever discoveries you make, it'll be the politicians who decide what to do with them. I'm playing the adult game round here."

"I bet you've not cut back on Ouka's expenses!"

"I would if Ouka demanded a cutting edge science lab, using enough power for the city of Tokyo." Turning his shoulder to Masafumi, Reiji tee-ed up his ball. "The list of your embarrassing failures is longer, much longer." He looked at Masafumi, and his son cringed. "You're an amateur. If I need anything, I'll have it done by professionals."

Masafumi dared not even frown at his father. He managed to scowl at Crawford and Schuldig simultaneously, though they had the Takatoris on either side. Esset's promises had been for him. Hadn't they?

Reiji turned his back on him and continued with his game. With one of his very rare flashes of common sense, Masafumi decided to get out while he could.

The green and gold May morning had enticed a lot of rich men to the course. As he retreated to the parking lot, to Masafumi Takatori every one of them seemed to make it a point to obstruct him with their silly game. His drive from the lot banged even more fenders than usual.

Normally, he despised Hirofumi's taste for flashy sports cars. The anonymous white van he himself drove carried more equipment, and could be used to collect specimens. But just now, he would have given a lot to be able to floor the accelerator. He'd love to rub the hapless traffic cop's nose into the fact he couldn't do anything. As it was, even moderately fast speeds made his van lurch and squeak. Masafumi had always left car maintenance to the girls. The sooner he recruited a few more, the better.

It did occur to Masafumi to go to the one man his father feared. That was dismissed immediately. Saijou's one interest was not Science, but power over his own kind. Masafumi sneered at the thought of wasting your life on ants, then relished the fantasy of the old man saying, "Of all my descendants you are the true Takatori."

If his immortality research succeeded, he would have enough time for that power, too.

He found his van heading for one person who did cross his father. Schuichi was a Takatori, after all. Schuichi knew enough to believe the things he would tell him, and had the power to protect him.

More important, he could and would pay for Masafumi's information.

At length Masafumi found a parking spot near to the graceless, overpowering bulk of the police office building. Even walking through the crowd into the building was a fight. When he had enough power, this was how he'd live. No more hidden country houses.

He didn't expect to spend time waiting in a queue with the hoi polloi, and for once reality lived up to his expectations. Once he'd entered the building, a young woman appeared and said deferentially, "Takatori-san? Our surveillance team informed your uncle. He'd like to see you right away."

Masafumi nodded graciously and followed. His uncle had good taste, and one for the exotic. Chinese, wasn't she?

He was wondering whether Schuichi would give her to him as he followed her through an unmarked door.

He found himself frozen absolutely still.

Behind him the door swung shut with no visible hand. It would have intrigued Masafumi at any other time. Now he was struggling to breathe.

From the corner of an eye he could just make out a figure wheeling...It looked like the trolley for surgical instruments in an operating room. Masafumi's blood ran cold.

But there was no clatter of metal. As it came in plainer sight he saw a laundry cart. The man pushing it was dressed as a janitor. He swept a big armful of towels up out of it.

Then something even more unbelievable than not being able to move. Without being touched he was lifted from the ground. His body was lain on its back in the air and floated to the cart, and into it. A foot above the surface he was abandoned rather abruptly to gravity. He hit the metal surface with an audible thump.

The man in the janitor's uniform assessed him. "You better let him get a few breaths." He had a deep, pleasant voice and strange violet eyes. _I'll remember you all right_, Masafumi swore to himself.

"Why?" The Chinese lady's beautiful voice was completely indifferent.

"Brain damage soon, I should think."

"All the better." But the paralysing grip around him relaxed enough for him to breathe in.

As soon as he could. he began gabbling pleas, bribes and threats, all mixed together. The Chinese woman bent over him, and he saw the gleam of metal in her hand. He knew what could be done, what he had done, and fear shattered him.

* * *

Schuldig said, "He's happier this way."

Crawford saw Takatori look toward his golf club and intervened hastily. After all, Schuldig didn't deserve to be beaten. "I assure you, Mr Takatori, Jaeger did nothing."

Takatori thought about this, in his way. Crawford wondered if this was when the politician would finally start asking questions about what sort of technology Esset used. Takatori seemed to have a vague idea Schuldig used drugs and knives like his son, and tried not to think about the subject further. Takatori was more interested in assigning blame. "Then your lackeys."

Crawford was glad they weren't here to see him kow-towing to this fool. Threats to his mother and sister might keep Fujimiya obedient, but it was only sensible to keep him as much out of the loop as possible. He tried to keep Silvia away from Takatori for other, obvious, reasons. "Lin-san injected a mild sedative. Completely safe."

Takatori took a few steps toward the corner where his son was seated on the ground, happily taking to pieces a plastic toy. "He does look happier. But how can you tell?"

Schuldig tried to mute his normal manner. "I can tell. Mentally your son is a small child again."

"He wasn't a happy small child."

Schuldig assured him, "This time he is."

Takatori threw a golfing manual at him.


	8. Day and Night

Even when the first shock had died away, Yuushi couldn't concentrate. He couldn't even care. Not for poor Bellwood, whose grief was nearly as much as his own, and who felt so needlessly guilty. Not for his family friends, who'd known Taiyou. Certainly, he couldn't care for work. His team was down a rook and a knight now. He knew it was important to them. He knew it should be important to him.

Someone suggested he visit Masato in hospital. He sat with the man for a while in hospital and tried to talk. Masato was kind. Yuushi could vaguely remember having an absurd crush on the older man, slightly embarrassing to them both, for Masato was straight. For all Yuushi knew, he still had it. Everything was wrapped away in cotton wool.

It was harder than the recent deaths of their parents by accident. Taiyou had killed herself. Suicide rejected or betrayed the people she knew loved her, and would grieve for her. Yuushi's kept trying not to think about the despair which had driven her into drowning herself, and the pain and fear she must have felt while doing it. Not as kind a death as a young girl would have thought, and not romantic at all.

He drifted around Tokyo for hours on end. The alternative was to sit still and let his thoughts catch him.

He found himself in a park they had often gone to when Yuushi was a kid. The same benches, the same little bridges, the cherry trees had hardly grown. The memories were a bit kinder there. Their parents had been alive, and Taiyou had looked much like the young girl over there.

For a bit Yuushi found some obscure comfort watching her. She was with her mother. They were talking earnestly, and Yuushi decided the mother was probably encouraging her daughter to university, while the daughter was explaining she loved some boy forever, so the sooner they married and started living in idyllic bliss, the better. It was what an American tourist would call Indian summer, admirably suited to sit on a park bench in the sun and speculate about those near by. A young man came up to them, was greeted, and sat down with them. The girl's boyfriend? Yuushi decided not.

The young man was only a boy, really. That was just how he'd come late to his family. If the kid hadn't had red hair, it could have been him sitting there. His mother was talking something over with him. No doubt it was some important matter such as observing curfew. Or to the kid, Yuushi thought, remembering the few years back, as important as not having to observe curfew.

"Nice family, aren't they?" said a distinctive voice at his elbow.

Yuushi was startled. A civilian shouldn't have been able to creep up on him like that.

The guy certainly looked like a civilian. A tall, handsome man just enough into middle age so he could look fatherly, as he was doing now. He was dressed in a far better suit than the normal salaryman. Yuushi was sure he'd seen that man before, but when he spoke again found himself being mesmerised by that rich musical voice.

He said, "I'm really sorry for the girl, you know. She made a mistake, meaning well, and she's landed her brother in a bad situation. She knows just enough to feel guilty. She might do something really desperate." A pause, while Yuushi looked at the Taiyou-ness of the young girl. "Like kill herself."

Yuushi was careful to remain still. He believed the man was musing aloud to himself.

He went on in that rich, indisputable voice. "Crawford killed their father, and they know it. But Crawford works for Reiji Takatori. And Takatori's brother is Police Commissioner. Nothing to be done about it. Pity. If only there was someone who could take that smug bastard down. Once Shuichi was out, the law could take care of the others."

Yuushi blinked at a sudden image of a smug, bulky Police Commissioner. Another part of his mind suddenly remembered where he'd seen this guy. Kinugawa. Someone who'd undone quite a lot of Crashers' work, and made Weiss needed where it shouldn't have been. He didn't seem the sort of person to be overcome with moral indignation.

But then, he might just be ambulance chasing. Or have a personal beef with the Commissioner.

A foreign-feeling suggestion distracted him back to the idyllic family scene before him. Perhaps he really did feel sorry for the girl and wanted to save her from harm.

* * *

It had been a bad night for Schuldig as well as Ran. Ran so hated quitting that outside job waiting tables. It had to do with self respect, as well as wishing to spend as much time away from the team as possible.

The room they shared was all Schuldig's. Even Ran's clothes and weapons stored there were bought for team work.

Crawford's insistence Ran be Schwarz' full time, working on his combat skills when not actually body guarding was, Schuldig suspected, partly so Ran realised Schwarz owned him completely.

Crawford insisted Ran work for the team full time, working on combat skills when not body guarding. Schuldig knew this was to teach Ran they owned him completely.

Finally, Schuldig had sent Ran to sleep against his will. Now he unwound his arm from Ran. Even asleep, the smaller man seemed to flow away from him.

Unwinding his mind was harder. Not only Ran's nightmares had come to live in Schuldig's mind, but his memories of a loving family, a cherished small sister...And why should that spark the memory of a fellow student of Rosenkreuz? Schuldig shook the memory of the vicious, crazy Layla from his mind.

Even that sudden impulse for a midnight raid on the fridge wasn't his.

Nonetheless, once the impulse had been put in his mind for coconut biscuits – he didn't like coconut, really, did he? - he padded into the kitchen and looked meaningfully at the packet in Crawford's hand.

Crawford tossed it to him and watched as he wolfed them all. "Fujimiya still trying to find a way to bribe you to kill me?"

"Hey, it helps keep him sane."

Crawford shrugged. Keeping his team mates sane had never been high on his priorities. At least he'd given up on making a joke of it with Silvia. "You'd think he'd have realised the basic logic in that anything he can offer you, you can take without paying."

Schuldig had taken a lot from Ran. He'd taken love and pity and remorse with the pleasure. Schuldig wondered again if anyone can just take without paying something. Especially a telepath trying to own a human soul. He bundled up the biscuit wrapper and threw it at the rubbish bin. It missed. Crawford was saying, "That Ouka brat will try to poison my coffee just before the big meeting."

"Oh, that won't be poison. It'll be truth serum."

"Your job's to warn me about this sort of thing."

"It's been pretty vague so far." Seeing Crawford's exasperation, "Hey, I didn't know anything definite. She's been playing with the idea of having you break down and confess in the middle of as large a crowd as possible. Preferably including Uncle Schuichi, so he'll realise how deeply he's wronged poor old Takatori and fall sobbing on his neck." Coughing either from the image or a biscuit crumb, he added thoughtfully, "With Ouka set on it, it just might happen."

"I wish she'd face up to the fact this is all her beloved Tousan's doing." Schuldig wanted to say: Yes, but if you hadn't come along with all these tempting offers and powers, Takatori wouldn't have done it. He'd have stayed just another run of the mill scumbag.

Bad enough, for Ouka.

"Well, be there to stop her. I might have to do something about that girl."

"You and Schuichi could get together on that," Schuldig muttered after his unhearing back. He stayed in front of the open fridge, looking for something to take the taste out of his mouth.

He was beginning to realise he didn't like the taste of coconut.


	9. Yokoo

Ken's motor bike ploughed through the mob. He wasn't intending to hurt anyone, but wouldn't have minded if their own carelessness had risked their necks. Like the monkeys they so otherwise resembled, the journalists scrambled nimbly out of the way with shrieks and chatters of rage.

Ken saw Aya-chan's desperate face among them, lifted his foot from the rest just long enough to kick the most obstructive journalist's hindquarters, and reached out to pull her in front of him. A soccer goalie's kick at a journalist directly in front. He drove out of the mob, and was out of sight while they were still searching for their car keys.

Adrenaline still running, "Let's make it hard for them to follow!" He spoke loudly to be heard above the engine, and she nodded timidly. He'd never seen Aya so shaken before, but then he'd never seen her mobbed before.

He grinned at her in reassurance and charged the largest truck in sight. Going wrong way fast through heavy traffic was much easier than last time; now it was bright daylight with the traffic jammed into a crawl. As a final flourish, he sailed over a construction site, and was only sorry it was such a small one.

He turned into a rule follower, the right lane, and the right speed. Still grinning, he looked at her pale face and managed to take off his jacket while driving one handed. "Here, wear this." As she huddled into it rather clumsily, "Well, Aya, looks like this time you did need rescuing."

"Yes, I did," she said weakly. "But my name's not Aya. I'm Sakura Tomoe."

For the first time the bike wobbled.

Ken looked again. Aya was in and out of the flower shop quite a lot, but she wasn't a close friend of his. It needed a careful look to be sure this girl wasn't her. "Just a minute." Like Omi, he followed the more sensational news carefully. The more unbelievable, tabloid parts so often turned to be Weiss' concern. "Weren't you the girl who claimed Doctor Yokoo...?"

"Yes. That slob butcher. And he says, unavoidable error, and goes on floating around in his private swimmng pool..."

Ken had to ride one handed again while he patted her shoulder. Sakura looked wary at the touch, then looked at Ken again, and relaxed. When she frowned, she was saying something about doctors. He didn't blame her for being mad. Doctor Yokoo did sound the sort of moron jerk no hospital should have hired. He ventured, "You know, though, it was strange, your family not knowing your sister was dead for a week."

Sakura looked ashamed. "She was a career woman. Mum and Dad have to work such long hours, and I do have to put in a lot of time if I'm going to be a pro athlete...I was away in camp some of that week." She asked diffidently, "Are we going anywhere in particular?"

He grinned at Sakura. "Where you want to go."

"The opposite direction?"

He did what, in all modesty, he had to call a very good wheelie. Sakura kept her trusting eyes on him, which was nice, but meant she missed it. When they were heading back into the mess of inner city traffic, she proved not to have been thinking of his riding at all. She said broodingly, "They've really got it down pat, Dr Yokoo's nurses. You'd almost think...I should do something!"

He looked at her in alarm. One Ouka was enough for any man. Two, if you counted her faithful sidekick. Too much. "Write a letter to the Hospital Board. Any government authority you can think of.. Your MP." Weiss' Siberian said, "Remember there are people paid to deal with this sort of thing. They've got the skill and the clout to do it."

* * *

Ken waited until dinner was almost over before tackling Omi. Or rather Bombay. The younger man looked nervously at the door. "Shouldn't we keep this sort of thing for the mission room?"

Asuka said, "Should we do this sort of thing at all? The system is Persia finds us the targets."

Ken said stubbornly, "We're not meant to blatantly ignore what's shoved under our nose. Dr Yokoo reeks."

Yohji shifted uneasily. His instinct would be to back up his partner, but he'd been helpless in hospital often enough. Civilian doctors were meant to be more scrupulous than Kritiker's. That was one of the hopes that kept him going. Rather apologetically, he echoed Ken's earlier speech to Sakura.

Ken hadn't believed it even when he was saying it himself. Looking at Omi, "There are people to deal with murderers and corrupt police lawfully, too."

Omi said seriously, "There's one thing different in this, Ken-kun. If you're right, we're not dealing with a deliberate murderer, but an incompetent."

"People end up just as dead."

"Kenkun! Yokoo has not been named as a target. If I find something, he can be taken care of by a non lethal team."

Yohji winked. "Anyway, you can tell your girlfriend you're doing something about it."

Ken scowled at him. "Sure, Yotan. I told her all about my friend the expert in illegal computer searches."

Omi finished his ice cream rather hurriedly. "You know, Ken-kun, that it's going to take time even to map out Yokoo's cases. Then I have to chart, to find out if there's any statistically significant pattern. And then check to find other things beside the one surgeon. I'll start the programs tonight, but it might be days...I better start now," he finished through the last mouthful of ice cream and bolting for the stairs to the underworld.

"I'll do your washing up!" Ken shouted after him. Asuka wasn't girly about most things, but ever since the rat incident she'd insisted on at least one dish washing a day, and everyone taking a turn.

So Ken did the washing up. Afterward he found himself heading to the top of the stairs and turned himself around to watch television. It was worth looking into, wasn't it?

Sport was all rugby. It was vaguely depressing to Ken's soccer training that people wanted to cross his beloved sport with mud wrestling. Even before the first advert break he found himself going for a beer, via the top of the stairs. Okay, so Sakura had just had vague notions, and she'd been pretty upset anyway, but that didn't mean she was wrong.

Struck by the idea of returning the favour, Ken taped one of those painstaking dramas of ordinary life Omi liked. He decided telling Omi that would cheer him up, and headed for the stairs, with a strong feeling he'd put his foot in it yet again.

Seeing Omi staring at the computer screen with an unusual droop to his shoulders, Ken rushed into saying, "I'm sorry, Omittchi. I've taped you that _Upstairs, Downstairs_. Can I make it up to you, some way?"

Omi pulled up his bright smile, one of the smaller versions. "No need, Ken. You were quite right. It's just so blatant! There's no way the hospital could have missed this."

"Well, take a break anyway. Yohji and Asuka will be back from their club crawl soon. Sometime. You can tell us then."

"Dungeons and Dragons?"

Ken groaned, only half in fun. "You already own most of the souls in Japan! What are you going to do with all those souls?"

Still, there are a lot worse ways to pass a couple of hours than being beaten by Omi at Dungeons and Dragons. Both men had been watching from the corners of their eyes the little line of screens fed by Omi's watch cameras outside. When the other two members of Weiss walked into range Omi clicked open the front door lock. Ken bounded up the stairs to see if they were sober enough for briefing.

Yohji came down the steps first, rather flushed, but his green eyes unexpectedly sober. "It must be a positive report, if it's so quick."

"I'm afraid so."

Asuka came next, marching straight backed down the steps as if daring either the steps or her feet to take advantage of the alcohol in her system. "Do we need to know this, if it's going to a non lethal team?"

Omi said mildly, "But I don't think it will be." He sat where he normally did for Manx's briefings. So did the other three, and listened to him. "Yokoo-sensei is an operating surgeon of the Kazucota Hospital. He was the emeritus of his graduating class and was immediately employed in confidential medical research. He moved through several employers. I've found high praise for his professional skills, far less for his relations with other staff.

"His best paying job was his last, with Takatori Industries. Their recent slump, with the illness of Masafumi Takatori, led to scrapping all their medical research. He was snapped up by Kazucota Hospital. He has done four hundred and twenty operations. Of them fourteen died."

Ken said puzzled, "That doesn't seem so bad."

"It would be quite good. Except that of the fourteen deaths, five were low risk patients, in excellent health except for one easily remedied condition, in the prime of life. Just the sort of patient who doesn't die, unless some allergy or heart condition shows up without warning. They all suffered brain death on the operating table. There are two patients of Dr Yokoo not in the stats. They are still in the hospital, in irreversible coma, on life support machines. Yoshiko Tomoe is one of them. The five in the statistics have been taken off, and died immediately."

Yohji said gravely, "I'm sorry to hear this. But, Omi, this sounds more like defective anesthetic equipment...I mean, no one would do this on purpose. Why should they?"

"I don't know why. But Ouka told me Crawford has already been checking out those naturally brain dead. It looks to me that he can't find whatever he wants and is making more."

Asuka said, "You have checked the anesthesiologist?"

"Various anesthesiologists. Various nurses. One doctor."

"You say this is blatant. Then why hasn't the hospital done something?"

"For the same reason police officers look the other way."

Asuka squinted slightly, working against the drunkenness in her system. "It sounds to me as if someone wants human organs. They were organ donors?"

Omi admitted, "I hadn't got round to checking that." He swung his chair round and began typing.

Ken objected, "Wouldn't there be easier ways of collecting organs?"

Yohji said, "Healthy organs in the prime of life? It might be a very profitable hobby, for someone with the right connections."

Omi tossed over his shoulder, "Ken-kun, you better look out for your girl. If she makes much more fuss Yokoo might want her out of the way."

Ken gave Omi's back an 'et, tu?' look. "She is not my girl. I only met her today."

Yohji said, "That can be enough." He smiled at Asuka, forgetting to look sophisticated. "You see a girl, she looks back at you..."

Asuka said, "You sweep her off her feet onto your motorcycle."

Ken scowled at everyone and slumped back in his chair. "I'll try and see she's safer." Loudly, "As I would any civilian."

Yohji opened his mouth to reply, and from the gleam in his eye it was a good one. Ken was saved by Omi's saying, "Now that's very interesting!" He faced them again. "The," he hesitated only slightly before saying deliberately, "murder victims had the average number of organ donors among them. In every case there was...You know there's a standard procedure, so as to get the organs as fresh as possible? Well, in every case the harvesting was delayed. In these cases and these alone."

Ken scratched his head. "But the organs were there?"

"True. But it must mean something."

Ken looked at him in exasperation. That's what being brilliant did to you. They were meant to worry Yokoo _hadn't_ stolen organs?

Yohji suggested, "Something they usually don't harvest? Pity this is Japan." The rest of Weiss looked at him in patriotic reproach. "I only meant, chances are all those bodies have been burned. No hope of finding anything out from an autopsy."

"Even in countries like – America, most of the organs are taken out before..." Omi would be having the same sort of gruesome theories as Ken, right now. He rather wished they hadn't played that Dungeons and Dragons. "Sooner or later we'll have to ask Yokoo himself."

"Preferably before his next victim," suggested Ken.

"Of course," said Omi with dignity.

* * *

Dr Yokoo's address was a house too large to be convenient for the man living alone he was meant to be, too remote for the busy surgeon he was. Asuka had remarked, "Lucky for us he doesn't live in a central city flat."

Yohji had assured her, "Omi'd find us a way."

Omi mapped and scouted for Weiss as well as it could be done. But eventually it was Ken who went into the fire zone as point. Yohji and Asuka were each at a shoulder, but he was first.

In his com, Omi's voice murmured. "Okay, Siberian. Target is alone." Omi read out the angle and distance from Ken's entry. "South Three." South Three meant Ken led, took the first fire, and stood ready to corner or cripple Yokoo. But it was up to Yohji to snare him.

The living room was so dimly lit Ken could see nothing except the dark outline of the table, but he was sure the target was where Omi said. He came in through the French windows in a burst of glass. The noisier the better. If Yokoo reacted like ninety-nine per cent of Weiss' targets, the noise should shock him into freezing for the crucial few seconds, for Ken to close and disable.

Suddenly the room lit up blindingly. An accented voice sneered, "That was quite impressive, but you could have just phoned. Dr Yokoo is not at home."

His eyes still tearing, Ken hurled himself in the direction of the jeer.

Then his back hit a wall, knocking the breath out of him. For a second he thought there'd been an explosion. A silent explosion? Someone very strong had thrown him?

Still getting his breath back, he looked at the man facing him. A tall man in glasses and a fancy white suit. He'd been packing computer disks away in a glossy black briefcase.

Ken recognised him. He'd just glimpsed him in the Human Chess Game, wearing much the same superior smirk, before returning his attention to the mission. Omi had identified him later as Crawford, Ouka's bệte noir. The man sauntering in through the door wearing another smirk he'd met once. Jaeger. He knew Aya-chan, for some reason, hated him even more than Crawford, and called him Schuldig. Behind Jaeger was Ran.

"Ran?" he croaked. "You treacherous bastard!"

Ran looked at him impassively.

And slipping in through the opposite door was a small, Chinese woman, lovely despite the scar on her face.

Yohji barely got half a step toward Crawford when the Chinese woman lifted her hand. Yohji staggered back as if he'd been pushed. Asuka growled and went for the woman.

While other people's attention was distracted, Ken pushed himself off the wall and headed for Crawford again. He was an expert in body language, and Crawford's was proclaiming loudly 'I am responsible for everything bad that's happening to you, and enjoying it.'

No Weiss had yet tried out Crawford's combat skills. Ken, for one, had assumed any Weiss would be better. He was surprised to find himself flat on the floor.

He got up again.

In those few seconds, things had changed drastically. Yohji and Asuka had been stopped in their concerted attack on the strange woman, Yohji by Schuldig, Asuka by Ran. Yohji asked Schuldig, "Who are you?"

Schuldig dodged Yohji's wire, laughing rather wildly "Call us Schwarz."

Asuka's bow lay in two halves on the floor. Ken couldn't figure how that had happened, for she and Ran were fighting each other bare handed. Neither seemed to want to hurt the other, and it was mostly a pretty exhibition bout. Crawford and the Chinese woman were standing to one side, apparently not very interested.

With the very little breath he had left, Ken muttered into the com, "Bombay, we have a situation here," before diving at Crawford again.

"On it," said Bombay's voice. Crawford's voice called to his team to shut their eyes as Omi broadcast to his over the com, "Nova!"

Lights all over the house flared extra bright before shorting out all together.

Ken heard the snap of the briefcase closing. Crawford's voice said coolly, "Well, Weiss, you've taken enough of our time. In case you're wondering, your mission is a success. Yokoo is dead in the next room, with some more of his patients. He thought he was up to weight, but wimped out at the crunch."

Ken knew Omi would be listening as he drew nearer. His eyes adapting to the dark, he looked for the place Bombay's arrow would come from. It would be at the obvious leader of this Schwarz. Ken poised himself to tackle the woman while she was still shocked. He couldn't alert Omi without telling the enemy something.

Perhaps Yohji was thinking along the same lines. He drifted a couple of steps closer toward Schuldig. Ken barely saw his wrist twitch while asking, "What is your business here?"

It wasn't too dark to see the smirk on Crawford's face. It wasn't as broad as Schuldig's, but more sinister. "I don't think I'll tell you." He lifted his briefcase and darts thudded into it.

And then they were gone.

Seeing Omi was walking toward the next room, Ken said, "Om – Bombay, you don't have to do this." Weren't Manx' little horror films enough for him to bear? "I'll check it out for you."

"Thank you, Kenkun. I think I should."

But Yohji and Asuka were blocking the doorway. Asuka said quietly, "No wonder he wanted a secluded house."


	10. Hirofumi

Crawford didn't have a formal office. He'd been hired to use a gun, not a computer. But the master bedroom in Schwartz' luxurious flat was a suite. He'd had the outer room converted the first week.

Unlike Ran, Silvia had been glad to claim her new territory, and make her mark. She'd chosen European furnishings, possibly as unChinese as she could. After all, she had no kind memories of Hong Kong slums. She'd ripped off some good fakers of Victorian antiques, and good art forgeries with them. Crawford, who'd thought minimalism and sleek machinery sensible, had found himself working in an office as efficient as his old chromed one, and a good deal more comfortable.

His sensibilities didn't stop him from littering the whole thing with papers. At the moment, he was copying an obscure hieroglyph from one column to another. He'd gone through his more important papers and recoded them. If Ouka could make sense of them now, she ought to be in Rosenkreuz – teaching.

He didn't bother to look up as Schuldig strolled in and drew up a chair. The telepath seated himself without any invitation, as usual. Not so usual was his greeting. "You know, you're going about this wrong."

Well, until lately, not so usual. Crawford had to admit he'd been short sighted grabbing Ran as a toy for Schuldig. The telepath had been little influenced by other toys. But others had not only been shorter term, but had been dumb, uneducated losers.

The only reason Schuldig would've entered a museum three months ago was to trash it.

He fixed a coldly glittering pair of spectacles on Schuldig, and the German made soothing gestures. "Okay, _we_'re going about this wrong. I caught Ran thinking that we're ignoring a basic fallacy here. Any human functioning enough to survive will automatically defend itself against possession. It's really more basic than intellect."

Crawford had, in fact, been trying to squeeze more out of this week's budget. But he didn't have to ask Schuldig what he was talking about. The way in which Crawford was failing the Elders, and what they would do about it, was always somewhere in his mind. "Are you suggesting we try a corpse, then?"

Schuldig was briefly distracted. "He didn't think of that. Well, I didn't catch him thinking of that. No, what he was thinking we should do was choose someone with a naturally incomplete soul."

Crawford's frown didn't lessen, but he sat back and thought it over. "How do you tell if someone has...that's one thing they don't have medical equipment for. There was a biokinetic at Rosenkreuz..."

"I've met him. No, he chooses to live his life with insane simplicity, but he's not simple. Ran was thinking of Hirofumi and his dear little friends."

Crawford shook his head regretfully. "Whatever they're like, they manage to get through a day."

"It doesn't help, then?" At Crawford's headshake he drew in a breath. This was new territory and thin ice. "Then I think you better do, what you've been trying to avoid doing."

Only Rosenkreuz training kept Crawford impassive. "And do you know what that is?"

"Your shields are too good." Schuldig tried to look apologetic, not a look natural to him. "It's my neck, too, so I've been watching you. I don't rely only on telepathy."

Crawford didn't bother to screen the thought. His last resort. The only people who haven't acquired any self defense are unborn babies.

Schuldig's sharp voice sharpened further. It sawed. "The One won't like being in the body of an infant."

"Once it has a human host, it can fix a lot of the problems."

Schuldig had never thought he would sympathise with Yokoo, but now he realised how he felt. "Let me take a look over Hirofumi's lot first."

"Do." After a moment's hesitation, "Kristian, I don't like doing this either. If there's any way to avoid it, I will."

"Let's make a bargain."

Crawford was suspicious. Sensible man. "What?"

"You don't tell Ran, and I won't tell Silvia."

Crawford said almost sadly, "Silvia would accept it."

* * *

"I hope you appreciate what I do for you, Ran," said Schuldig. He was snuggled up to his teammate, one arm around his waist, the other holding a flask of rum reinforced hot chocolate. They were seated on their sleeping bags: the lightest, softest, and thickest available. Ran rather wished he wasn't glad of Schuldig's body warmth.

This Sunday was a beautiful summer morning. They were far enough on the outskirts of Tokyo to even see a few last stars and hear a few first birds. Schuldig sighed dramatically. "Here I am, roughing it in the woods, when we could walk less than a hundred yards and be welcomed into Hirofumi's luxurious country home. Just because you have these absurd scruples."

Ran turned his head to look back up into his face. "Thank you," he said simply. Schuldig kissed him. Ran wondered whether he ought to take the chocolate away before Schuldig got drunk on it, or the fumes knocked Ran out.

Then he saw Schuldig's eyes become a shallower blue. He could have sworn he'd seen the tips of his ears twitch, like a kitsune's. Schuldig had switched to telepathy. Ran knew even with Schuldig's training, this was more effort than normal speech. It hardly needed more to tell Ran their quarry was stirring.

He gave Ran a little push. More of a pat. /Good luck./ Ran was concentrating so on the work at hand he hardly heard it.

Ran had already checked out the terrain. He was both quick and quiet as he ran toward the house. He flattened to his belly to get under the vine draped branches and found the hunters just emerging. They seemed remarkably relaxed about it, laughing and exchanging bottles, and he suddenly hoped this was all just target practice. Then he saw the victims.

/Keep your eye on your target!/ More gently /That guy in the blue jacket is the drunkest. He's not liking this as much as he thought he would./

He would be Ran's last choice then. /Anyone who likes hurting his quarry?/

Reluctantly, /The tall guy with the revolver in his belt. But watch out, that bulk is muscle, not fat./

Ran appreciated Schuldig not giving them names. It would be to make this a bit easier. /He's not so deficient he can be used?/

/No. What's in there enjoys being him./

Even now, the captives couldn't quite believe they were being hunted like wild animals.

Ran's target convinced them. He swaggered forward and ran an eye over the huddle, selecting an elderly man who wouldn't provide much sport anyway. He drew his revolver and shot the old man in the belly, giving a movie twirl to his gun as he put it away. The old man was still screaming and flopping when the target turned to the rest and raised his rifle. They bolted, scattering.

Ran knew Schuldig was monitoring him, but an important part of this exercise was to track and corner his prey without help.

The big man was heading toward a look out post he'd probably used before, a small rise in the ground where a big tree had fallen. Ran had no difficulty in getting there before him.

The rotten trunk had already seated a couple more hunters by the time the big man arrived. They greeted him with the slimy veneration of men who aren't sure they won't receive a bullet in the belly themselves. "You guys pick out your beats, yet?" he asked.

Very tentatively, "Kiku-kun thought he'd go over to the east, where all that brush is. I thought I might go along part that way."

"Sure. I'll stick close to the house. The best fighters usually try to double back and get into the lodge, for a phone or gun or something. Good luck, guys!"

They took their dismissal gratefully. The big guy stood inspecting the nearest cover. Perhaps, in earlier hunts, some prey had been watching him.

Ran stood still while that dark gaze was near him. At other times he eased forward, testing each leaf and grass blade. Fortunately, they weren't yet dried by summer. He was surprised at how like some childhood games this was. He'd enjoyed those games, and was almost annoyed to find some of the pleasure now.

He was quick enough to arrive at the closest covered point, but the target was already moving off, too far away for Ran to reach him before he'd time to turn and lift a gun. Ran wasn't discouraged. It had been worth trying.

The big guy would go by the easiest route. Ran went by the quickest. He stopped just short of where he could be seen from the house.

Humans had a poor sense of smell, and after a night in the forest Ran smelled rather of woods, but there was no need to take chances. He chose the downwind side of the path to stand beside a trunk, the shaded side, with one leafy branch screening him from the path. He stood quite still. If he missed this hunter, he was close enough to the house another would probably pass.

The big guy took a long time. But then, he would have been making little hunting forays of his own, up the easier paths. There were occasional shots, some close enough so Ran thought they might have been the target's.

Ran heard him and, yes, smelled him, well before he was in sight. Alcohol did carry a long way.

He was just five feet away, when there were a few nearby shots. His quarry blundered away towards them. It was a wonder they hadn't all shot each other yet. But perhaps that was part of the thrill.

For almost a second, and that can be a long time in those circumstances, Ran dithered as whether to make his try now or follow later. What decided him was the thought he might get another of these murderers. He took one smooth stride after the hunter.

Who turned around, lifting his rifle just as smoothly.

There was some distracting, telepathic natter in his mind about using his knife. He screened it out. He could think that up by himself.

The target's right hand was a difficult throw. It didn't strike exactly, but hit somewhere near. The rifle fired early, and then Ran was too close for him to bring the long barrel around again.

His target couldn't use it as a gun. But he could as a club or quarterstaff, and he swung it at Ran with vigour.

Ran had no trouble in dodging the blow, turning what could have been a skid on the moist ground into a longer step. Coming in from one side, he punched the side of his target's neck as hard as could.

The man staggered. His rifle dropped as he clawed at the air. He fumbled for his revolver.

Ran stood back and watched alertly. The man would only live for another minute or so. No one can breathe with a smashed trachea.

The hunter couldn't scream, but otherwise it was just as painful a death as his last victim's. Ran felt a slight urge to finish him off quickly, but that would have been dangerous with bare hands. And Crawford had said with bare hands.

/Fine/ said Schuldig sulkily when it was over. Ran had retrieved his knife, and was cleaning his hands carefully on fern leaves. /You didn't kill any helpless innocent and Crawford's order is carried out. Can we go home now?/

Ran thought of those other two hunters he'd seen close up. /Sure Crawford's orders were carried out? I did use my knife. Perhaps I better make sure./

/No, Ran./ Ran took a step to the east. /I am ordering you to withdraw./ Ran briefly considered obeying orders and took another step. /If you disobey in the field, Crawford will consider it worse than just failing his field test. Is killing a human being worth what he'll do?/

Ran turned back. Trudging toward Schuldig, he began feeling adrenaline withdrawal. With far more tiredness than he'd expected, came self revulsion. It hadn't even gone as smoothly as it should. /I don't know why he turned round at the last minute./

/You breathed./

Ran remembered now, the quick breath he'd taken before his attack. Quiet enough, he'd thought, but he'd thought wrong.

Schuldig didn't normally do kp, but with the chance of Ran stirring up a posse of armed hunters, he'd packed all their stuff into the car. Ran saw him propped against it, waiting for him. He pulled his head up and his back straight. It probably made no difference to Schuldig, but it did to him.

Schuldig studied him. "Ran, I've been checking out Hirofumi, and his pals. Even his servants and thugs, who are more human. There, none fit for the One."

Earlier Ran would have thought that good news. He waited tiredly. He had an idea there was a reason why Schuldig was telling him now, and he wouldn't like it.

Schuldig, at least, didn't think it too bad. He began smiling. In the tone of someone reading out the noon temperatures, "Your target was a genuine sadist. He hurt his quarry as much as possible. But he was in this Club for the politics. Connections, and the power it gave him over other members, including our dear Hiro-kun. He had what he wanted at home. What we want too. Trust a Takatori to provide that sort of thing."

"What do we want?"

"A perfectly healthy body which lets a sadist do whatever he wants to it."

Ran concentrating on turning his mind away from what that meant. On self control. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

* * *

Before joining the rest of Schwarz at breakfast, Crawford checked through any mail left at their flat overnight. The first, and most important, was always the state of the Vessel. He nodded with satisfaction at that one. Another envelope in a rather too familiar han,.was addressed to R. Fujimiya. He opened it at once. His eyebrows rose, just a little. Fortunately, no one was there to see.

A few minutes later he walked into the breakfast room and handed the open envelope to Ran. "A cheque from Hirofumi Takatori, with a thank you note."

Ran read out to Silvia, the only one not in the know, "'For Sunday morning.' Guess he had the place bugged."

"Won't do him much good." Crawford gave him that much consolation, with the ludicrously small cheque. "Weiss'll be hitting the place next week end." The other three members of Schwarz raised their orange juice to Weiss.


	11. Omi

thanks to WingedPanther73 for help

* * *

Omi was glad the shop no longer had crowds of fan girls around. All they needed was a mob of shrill teenagers demanding they open on time. As it was, they had probably already lost paying customers. The thought would annoy Asuka, in addition to all this.

In night work he had the authority, but it was day, and she was a strong willed woman. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, "If you won't take him to a hospital, a doctor, then."

Omi's arm tightened protectively around the smaller boy's shoulders. "Doctors would just turn him over to a hospital."

"Not all doctors." She turned to Yohji for backing. "Doc Jibiki wouldn't, would he?"

Yohji had been watching this without much interest. Obviously, as far as he was concerned, if Omi wanted to bring home a stray, it was Omi's business. As long as he fed him and cleaned up after him. He needed a minute to disentangle Jibiki from the others. "Weiss took care of Jibiki well before you joined us."

Omi knew Ken was quite prepared to take his time in opening. He'd told Omi years ago, if Persia so wanted the shop to make a profit, he could come and heft potting mix himself. "I know a doc from before." Every team member had their own before.

The boy at Omi's side looked up and said, "_I_'m all right. But the others. You have to get someone to help the others." Shota wasn't much younger than Omi, but the look he gave them, trusting adults to set things right, was from where Omi hadn't been for a long time.

Asuka said, "And what about the arrangement for the chess club? That's your job. And that's what you should be doing."

Omi wasted a few seconds regretting he'd ever said anything about a fourth member of Weiss. Asuka pulled her weight, but what he'd had in mind was another guy, and one reasonably indifferent to things like Omi bringing home strays.

As for the rengade Yuushi Honjou, no one had seen him for a while. It seemed unlike anyone alive and in Japan could dodge Kritiker this long. While he understood Persia felt threatened by a personal vendetta, Omi was disappointed by the way he'd turned all the resources of Kritiker to protecting himself.

He glanced out of the window. The autumn afternoon was growing late, but there was time for one delivery. He smiled sweetly at Asuka. "You don't mind taking care of the shop while I take him home, do you?"

Asuka was tough, but not tough enough to stand up to that look. She nodded.

Omi looked at Ken. Lately he'd been looking more and more to Ken. Being Weiss' point put Ken where he had to make decisions for the whole team, and Omi had learned to trust him as the leader in the field. He'd never been disappointed.

Ken gave him a brief nod. It meant while Omi was out he'd do his best on the computer, chasing up the few leads Shota had been able to give them.

Omi led Shota down to the garage with reassuring words. He wondered why they felt so hollow to himself. It should have been easy. A small group of kidnappers holding children for ransom wasn't a case for Weiss, really. When there weren't high level fixes, the police were perfectly competent, and could have managed it. Crashers could have done it.

But the police hadn't done anything yet. With Knight missing, Crashers weren't at their best. Omi felt this case was important. He wouldn't have felt so scared if it wasn't, would he?

Shota said, "Are we taking that?" His gaze was on Yohji's Seven. It became ludicrously disappointed when Omi wheeled out the delivery bike. He gave Omi a nearby address.

Omi tried a few more questions on the way home, but Shota could tell him very little about the kidnappers. As they moved into suburbs of short winding streets and walled gardens, most of his talk was street directions. Omi was so distracted by this, he didn't see the car coming.

Even Omi didn't have time to make out more than it was big and dark and headed straight for them. Then they were in the gutter, with the shards of the bike around them. He tried to shake the dizziness off, at least enough to see what was happening.

He vaguely heard the car brake. Its door slammed open. A heavy foot kicked him out of the way and Shota was lifted, crying and protesting.

Then there was another car braking. Gun shots. Lots of gun shots, suddenly stopping.

Omi pulled himself out of his daze by sheer will power. Two obvious yakuza thugs, outstandingly large and outstandingly unpleasant, were facing off against one man. Omi's training noted the two automatics lying on the street.

Shota was held up in front of one thug, who was saying, "Let go that whip thing or I'll break the kid's neck!"

Even in Omi's fuddled state, it was an easy shot. Omi's dart hit the man in the throat just as a whiplash curled around his wrist. The second thug seemed to feel no loyalty, and pushed his staggering partner into the whip wielder's arms as he made for their car.

Omi called, "Get down!" and both men did. The second dart brushed over its target's head, but it didn't hit him. It went into the car. There was a loud curse from its front seat. At least one man was still inside. He drove off at once, leaving one of his crew dead and one bound by the whiplash.

The man holding the whip turned round and saw Omi with a dart in his hand, and a thoughtful look on his face. "You must be Bombay." No mistaking who he was. For weeks Weiss had been told he was their number one target.

Omi hid the dart and nodded at Shota. Honjou said, "Police car coming. We're very near Shota's house. Both the cops and the crooks were keeping an eye on it."

"And so were you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Honjou looked at his prisoner. "They've got a kid of mine, and they're going to give him back." He picked him up by the scruff of the neck and threw him into the back seat of his car.

Omi wasn't invited. But the first police siren was very close, and he could hear more approaching. He dived into the front seat of the Porsche right after Honjou.

While Honjou skidded around a bend Omi squirmed around trying to see the police car. Honjou said, "Hang on, but don't fasten your seat belt."

"But Shota - "

"The cops are right there." Still driving at full speed with his right hand, with his left Honjou fumbled out a small leather case and threw it in Omi's lap. "The truth drug is in the green dabbed hypodermic. Give him the full dose."

Omi rolled over the back of the front seat. Of course their prisoner fought, but Omi jabbed the needle into the first bare skin available. Honjou kept driving, fast and furious. Omi guessed it made him feel better.

Picking the information they wanted out of his ramblings was harder than Omi thought. The thug really was a revolting person. At last, they made out the other kidnapped children were being held in an old freighter. They even got the directions.

As he began to follow those directions, Honjou tossed over his shoulder, "Ask him if Naoe Nagi's all right."

Omi gripped the nearest back of a car seat. This driving didn't make _him_ feel better. The prisoner was lucky to be drugged for it. "Naoe Nagi?"

He was asking Honjou as much as the kidnapper. It was the second who answered. "Dunno him."

Honjou persisted. "Looks like Bombay here. A little smaller, darker hair and eyes."

"Too old. He'd be too much...We always gettem younger."

"I'll call the cops."

"Kritker, first."

Omi looked at the back of Honjou's head. "You do know Kritiker has a kill-on-sight order out for you."

"The first thing our targets are going to do is run, but they might kill the kids before they do. We're almost there, but we might not arrive in time, and even if we do we don't know how much muscle they have. We mightn't get through. Kritiker will answer an emergency call faster. There are four twelve year olds in that freighter. Call Kritiker."

As they sighted the wharfs, they also saw the other car. Omi exclaimed, "Good driving, Knight! Look out, Honjou-san!"

Honjou ploughed the Porsche right into the heavier car. Even then, Omi winced at using a Porsche like that.

Without hesitation, Honjou was out of his wreck, diving into the other. There was only one man there. Honjou punched him hard enough to keep him asleep for a week.

Omi looked down at the kidnapper at his feet. The guy was blinking and cursing as he came out from the influence. Omi hated killing someone so helpless, but it wouldn't be the first time. He bent down, his hand flicked, and it was done.

Squirming out of the car, he nodded at Honjou's questioning gaze. The Crasher said, " I go fore, you aft." The crooks were in the better cabins, fore. When Omi opened his mouth, "We've had hostages panic on us before. You can take out the crooks as well as me, but I can't deal with the kids as well as you."

Omi said, "I was just agreeing."

He rather expected Honjou to charge straight in. Honjou struck him as that sort of guy. But the big man faded into the shadows almost as well as a Weiss would have. Omi turned his attention to his own part of the mission.

A smaller boat was its own alarm system, dipping under a boarder's foot. The freighter was logy with water. The kidnappers wouldn't even have to go to the hold they were keeping the children. They could scuttle the ship from the bridge.

At least the steel deck didn't change its steady rise and fall as he landed on it. He ran for the only hatch not rusted shut. The ladder down from it was slimy, slippery as if soaped.

Omi landed in a passageway, pitch dark at first. Despite his haste, he took a moment to steady himself and let his eyes adjust. He paused for a moment before pressing the light button. But speed was more important than stealth.

It was his hearing which led him to the right hold. A child was crying, and another trying frantically to quiet it.

The door wasn't locked. The heavy steel bar across it was enough. Omi pushed it and let it fall to the ground with a clatter. 'If they hear that, and come running...' He pulled his mind back from that hope. In the field anger and vindictiveness could get in the way.

He knew just how the room would look before he entered. It would be loud with machinery, have great pipes running through it, stink of industrial waste. The colder, sea-smelling dark snapped him back to where he was.

The children were huddled in the furthest corner. The only light leaked in with Omi, but it didn't look as he expected. Smaller, for one thing.

The cold was deadly. The smell of seawater and old ship wasn't enough to drown out the latrine smells in the room.

He said, "Come on! We have to hurry!" As they stared at him in confusion he wondered if Honjou would have been the better choice. He could have picked one up physically. "Please, trust me."

They shuffled forward a little. He eased himself out of the doorway. If they bolted...

There was a great grinding noise and the overhead hatch opened. Fresh air and fiery sunset seemed to explode in their dark. For a moment Omi thought it was Honjou.

The blond hair was the same. Otherwise he was a total stranger to Omi. Though he had no doubt of his intention. He lifted the gun to point it at the children. Then he said, "This is all Shota's fault," and Omi knew him.

Knew that he knew him. Big hands grabbing, and fear, and Persia saying _If you don't do better I'll hand you back to the bad ones._ And he was back. He heard a sob, and thought it was his own.

The click of a gun being cocked had alerted him on many missions. It brought him back now. He was in the middle of a mission without his team's back up.

With the clear sight used to run a mission, he saw he did have back up. Knight was trusting him to do his half of the mission, keep the kids safe, while he did his of rounding up the crooks. And he couldn't have an easier shot.

The dart hit the elbow of the gun arm. The arm was suddenly slack, the gun sliding away on the deck.

Omi didn't bother to waste more attention on the kidnapper. The dart's poison didn't give the victim time for any dying strokes. He turned to the children again. "It may not be as urgent, now. But we still need to get you out of here."

All four of them looked up at the sky, and nodded. They followed Omi out the door, slower than they wanted. None of them were without bruises.

He guided them up to the side of the deck sheltered from wind. It was the side facing the docks, and looking at the rundown, verminous buildings, Omi decided to keep them on the ship. He re-contacted Manx on his cell phone. Too unreliable for missions, but it worked now. Putting it away, he told them, "People are coming to take you back to your parents. It'll only be a little longer. But I have to leave now."

The rescued were as co-operative as they normally were in such situations. One of the girls even smiled at him.

He smiled back and went to the bridge, where Honjou was brooding over his roped prisoners. Honjou said, "None of them know anything about Nagi. Where's your prisoner?"

"Actually, he's dead." Honjou rolled his eyes and followed him toward the loading ramp. "Who's Nagi?"

"He was the eldest of my charges, sort of helped me with the orphanage."

Omi fussed around with his jacket, adjusting the last two darts and hiding them again. Then he put on his gloves. They walked down the ramp. Omi found a place against a concrete wall, which had the last of the evening sun shining on it. More important, they wouldn't be seen here. "Orphanage? What were you doing in an orphanage?"

Honjou chuckled. "Not applying for admission. There was an old nun running an orphanage. She'd gone a bit off her head with poverty and insecurity, and having all the responsibility all the time. Once I'd seen she'd got into care, I had to stay and look after things, till the Church could send help."

"You mean all this time you've been running an orphanage?" Honjou looked at him, with a quirked eyebrow. "As well as hanging around waiting to kill Persia?"

"Persia? Oh, King. Why should I want to do that?"

Omi heard a particular click and stepped between it and Honjou. "No, Ocicat. This man may not be a legitimate target."

Asuka's voice said mildly. "I was uncocking the crossbow."

In their cooling niche, Omi and Honjou, and presumably the hidden Weiss, watched the first Kritiker agents drive up to the freighter and hurry aboard. Honjou said thoughtfully, "Why should you think..? There was this hot shot lawyer. He made it seem so reasonable to go after a crooked cop." He turned round and looked at Omi. "The cop's name was Shuichi Takatori. Persia wouldn't be a Takatori, would he?"

Omi opened his mouth. "I don't remember!" he cried out, surprising himself even more than the others. "I'm not allowed to remember, or – or - "

Ken stepped up to his side, and put an arm around his shoulders. Glaring at Honjou, "You can go now."

"So you can smooth out your Bombay again? I don't think so." Honjou seemed quite prepared to take on as many Weiss as necessary.

Omi decided to pass over how unlikely it was Honjou could do anything if Siberian wanted to drag Bombay off by force. He gave a meaningful nod at the Kritiker agents around the ships. At least it started them moving in the same direction. Ken led the way through the rusty walls. It was already full night in these closed spaces.

"Indeed, Honjou-san, this man is my friend. If anything bad's been done to me, he didn't know." To deflect their tense attention from each other, "He'll be glad to look for your friend Naoe, too."

Yohji's Seven and Ken's Yamaha waited side by side. Trying to be tactful, Ken circled around his motorbike, checking its condition as if they'd been separated for a week. Unnervingly sudden, Yohji and Asuka were standing there, watching Honjou as if he was the main course in a zoo.

Honjou said to Omi, "I don't want Nagi in Kritiker's hands."

Omi said, "If he's nearly my age, he's..?"

"Fourteen."

Omi had been expecting older. He was seventeen himself, after all. He shelved one little speech and began another, fulsomely reassuring Honjou he would be searched and, if possible, returned. Omi hoped it would be possible. Rather hesitant, Honjou handed over a photo of Nagi Naoe. Omi accepted it with, "And can we give you a lift to the orphanage?"

"I know where it is," said Ken. His fists were clenched again.

It would be a pity if Honjou was pardoned from being a target only to have his head busted by a peeved Siberian. Omi shook Yuushi's hand in parting, and gave another little speech, this time about Honjou's saving the kidnapped children.

When Siberian and Knight had roared off on the motorbike, Yohji lit up a cigarette. "Guess tall, blond and handsome is your type." Ushering Asuka into the front seat, "How're you going to break it to Ouka?"

Omi listened to his teasing with as little attention as he could. His thoughts were listing and ordering what could happen to an unprotected fourteen year old in Tokyo. At least this was one thing even Ouka couldn't blame on Crawford.

As soon as Yohji had run out of breath, and he was a smoker, "Yohji-kun, if we find Naoe, please, don't tell Honjou, till we've checked up he didn't run away because of Honjou."

"And if he did?"

Omi didn't need to answer. Asuka said, "I'd bet my entire stock of gizmo-ed bolts he's exactly the decent, straightforward - " which started Yohji off again.


	12. Manx

Neither Crawford nor Saijou Takatori would have appreciated being likened to each another. To Saijou, Crawford was a gaijin thug with far too high an opinion of himself. Crawford thought of Saijou as a fourth Elder, luckily without psychic assistance.

Nonetheless, Saijou hung up the phone on Reiji Takatori with an expression much the same as Crawford did, allowing for the fact Crawford was young and good looking, and Saijou very far from either.

He looked around his room with less satisfaction than usual. It was large, and equipped for what its inhabitant thought of as sensual indulgence. Power. Sometimes sexual, but those toys were very few among the tools for controlling, and simply hurting, people. A stranger might not think Saijou's bedroom improved by its bright lighting.

His elder and more foolish son couldn't be persuaded that his own personal little recession meant that in the coming power struggle, Shuichi would have a fair chance. For a minute, Saijou looked like a snake trying to pout. He didn't like fair chances. Fair chances meant the whole Takatori empire might be used up as the two brothers fought for it. Nor did he like the idea of Shuichi winning. His younger son was, to Saijou, a wuss. He'd let Kritiker go to waste and might even relinquish its power into non-Takatori hands.

There seemed only one thing to do. Weaken Shuichi's power base so Reiji was still much the stronger. It must end in Shuichi's death, but Saijou had accepted that before his sons were adults.

In the old days he would have sent a discreet messenger. Even killing him afterwards wouldn't have made it very safe. Now he'd do the same work, safer, with a few words on the internet.

Reaching for his laptop, Saijou began working on his son's murder.

* * *

The briefing started with Ken bursting into laughter.

"I am sorry, Manx-san," said Omi. He didn't look all that serious himself. "But when I remember the fuss Persia-sama made about poor Yuushi-kun..."

"Yeah." By long practice, Yohji managed to grin around his cigarette. "Check the orphanages, hospitals, homes for old people. That's where these sort of hardened villains hang out."

"That reminds me, Yohji-kun. You haven't been to visit Momoe-san all week."

Manx looked at Asuka, rather pleadingly. Though she was the last comer, sometimes she was more professional than Yohji and Ken together. Asuka looked back without sympathy. Manx wasn't hoping for sympathy, but she didn't get belief either. Asuka said, "It's understandable Persia, using assassination regularly, should be so ready to see assassins."

Manx told them all, "If Yuushi-kun – I mean Knight – had been an assassin, he would have gone after Persia. These guys are assassins. They're Weiss Two." An understandable spurt of temper. "They've been pros a lot longer than you have."

In Manx's opinion, of Yohji's many annoying attitudes, one of the most annoying was the 'adult among children' one. "So they're visiting Tokyo. Manx, why think they've come on business? And if so, Persia is their target?"

"They visited their old Persia first." Manx had expected to need longer to explain, but Omi looked at Ken and he subsided. She just said, "He had bodyguards." No need to go into that, either. Manx felt serenely contemptuous of a man who'd train little girls to be his concubines. She didn't want to think how they were trained killers as well. "One of them survived long enough to tell us Weiss boasted they'd take out our Persia, too." She hefted the folders. "So, can I start the briefing with no further comments from Siberian?" Kritiker had put a lot more effort into this briefing than normal, but the buff folders were still thin.

Azami's weapon of choice, the violin, almost started Ken off again. As well, the others looked at Manx a bit suspiciously. She tapped the relevant paper emphatically with a crimson nail. "Don't let that put you off guard or off balance." She turned to Omi. "It's for the same reason Persia always has you dress so young. That's just the sort of reaction Weiss' – Weiss Two's – targets are meant to have. Azami's violin is a functional bow. From their earlier reports we think he might be able to produce strange effects with sound."

Omi asked, "Ultrasonic? Subsonic?"

Manx shook her head, quite relieved when Asuka said, "With Ayame's bladed boomerang, and Rinzou's – he kills with cards?"

"Think of them as shuriken."

"No impact weapons, then. That will limit them."

Yohji said, "In close quarters, Kenken could take care of the lot himself, if he can stop laughing long enough." Ken said something about artistic pretensions.

Asuka left them to it. Quickly flipping through the folders, "There are no Tokyo friends or relatives here. What about agents they've worked with?"

"Kritiker doesn't like agents making personal friends of each other." Manx frowned at them all. She spoke reluctantly, "They have worked with a couple of Tokyo based agents." Who wouldn't have given them one crumb of information they weren't meant to, and there was no computer expert in Weiss Two. Except Manx had seen Yohji and Asuka learn an amazing lot without computer aid.

Respectfully, Omi gave her a little time. Then he said, "The agents will be no use to Kritiker dead, Manx-san."

"The higher ranking is Takaoka. She's working undercover at the moment. I'll warn her not to return to her home. The second is Nobukuni. He's a bit of a loner, but works well with Takaoka, and is her usual partner."

"Do they see a lot of each other in their off hours?" Yohji spoke without his usual innuendo.

Manx shook her head. But then, they knew enough not to tell her if they did. After giving the address, "I suppose I better go with you to introduce you..."

"Manx," said Yohji patiently. "We're not inviting him to a birthday party. We're just going to watch him. If we spook him, all the better."

* * *

By the time they got to Nobukini's flat it was full night. But not a Weiss night. The clouds hung too low and dark to give hunters any glimpse of moonlight. Rain they were used to hunting in, but the weather looked to be working up to a proper storm, crippling to Omi and Asuka's bows.

Kritiker didn't pay its agents well. Kikuji Nobukini, codename Botan, lived in a small, cheap flat, in an area where he'd be on the alert as a matter of course.

Which meant the open door wasn't because he'd popped out to borrow a cup of sugar.

The cold winter wind blew it wider, with a sharp shriek of rusty hinge. Asuka would have bet Botan left those hinges noisy on purpose, in case of intruders.

Ken was gathered to dive through, fast and far and at an angle. Yohji and Asuka were in their customary places. He glanced towards Omi for the okay.

Someone said in a sharp nasal voice, "Come in, Weiss. We're not interested in fighting you today."

Ken jumped in anyway. Omi snapped, "Hold it, Siberian!" He thought to close the door after them.

Inside the room, the four Weiss stood looking at two Schwarz. Schuldig was seated on the couch, eating chocolate cake, and dropping crumbs. Ran was leaning against a wall, arms crossed. With them was a stranger. Tall, dark, ruggedly handsome, he sat beside Schuldig and puffed cigarette smoke at him.

Schuldig waved the slab of cake at them. Half of it fell on the floor. "Nobukini here knows a damn good baker. Want a piece? Well, maybe you're right. Don't want to spoil perfection." He leered at Asuka. For Schuldig, it was an amiable leer, but the three elder Weiss took a concerted step closer.

"Stop wasting time, Schuldig." Ran's flat tone didn't give any clue as to how he regarded this meeting.

"Yeah, right." Schuldig finished off the cake in one go. It should have choked him, and it would have saved everyone a lot of trouble if it had, but after a struggle he got it down. "Look, this isn't my idea. It's Ran's. Ran thinks Aya's little friend Omi should know something, and I'm the right one to tell him." Weiss was a bit reassured by this. Ronin was the most normal member of Schwarz. On the other hand, Schuldig's grin wasn't reassuring at all.

Ran said, "In private."

Ken said, "No way!" Asuka wondered which redhead to tackle first.

"It's not the mission." Ran closed his mouth and let Schuldig do the rest of the talking.

The older man looked pleased to. "That means it's personal." He looked meaningfully at the other three Weiss and the owner of the flat. "The rest of you can go. Help Botan find his partner."

Botan spoke in a deep smoker's voice. "Agent Angelica is better off not being found."

For a minute Schuldig's face looked thoughtful, almost peaceful. "Agent Angelica, also calls herself Kyouko Takaoka. You first met her in the Diamond Bar, when the man Weiss call Persia, Galen calls Sage, was putting the Galen Team together. She was wearing a pale green gown, and it reminded you of your daughter's favourite dress, so when she took her first high risk undercover - "

Botan growled. Ran rested one hand on the back of the sofa, just a few inches from the back of Botan's neck. Botan subsided. "So you have Angelica."

"No. I read your mind." He smirked at them all. "Yes, it could be the trick you all think. I could do a lot of telepathy, and you'd think it all tricks." He stood up and walked toward Omi. Ken tried to get between them. It was Omi who urged him aside. "Or I could do something which couldn't be a trick." He looked into Omi's eyes.

Omi cried out, "No!"

No one should have been able to dodge Siberian's blow, but it hit thin air. Indeed, it barely missed Balinese as he came at Schuldig from the other side. Drawn too fast to see, Ran's katana blade shielded Schuldig from arrows Asuka had fired reflexively.

The two Schwarz jumped back together, a folded white paper in each of their faces. Asuka thought the smoothness with which they moved together the most impressive trick yet.

Omi said, "That's enough." He swayed a little, and it was Botan, less set to fight, who was the one to support him. "Yes, I'd say you're a telepath. Is this," he touched his forehead gently, "real?"

Talking about his profession, Schuldig was matter-of-fact. "I've only given a small nudge. Those nightmares since the kidnapping case are real memories, and they would have grown anyway. Ran thought they were growing too slowly." The other Weiss looked at Omi with surprise. They hadn't known any of this.

Omi was looking at the two Schwarz. "And why should it matter how fast I remember?"

Ran said, "That's what you might want to hear privately. Or just with Hidaka to help."

Omi thought. He shook his head decisively. "No. I don't want to keep secrets from my team."

Ran looked at Botan. The older agent looked back. Omi set his jawand said, "It's his life which could be at risk."

"It isn't," said Ran. But he went back to the same position he'd been in when they'd entered the room.

Schuldig said, "The kidnappers who took Shota and the rest were just out from prison from another, very similar, offense. The records say among the victims in the earlier case was the son of our employer, Reiji Takatori. He refused to pay the ransom. Officially, Mamaoru Takatori is dead. In fact, he was saved by his uncle for his uncle's use."

Asuka thought it was like watching a road accident. Ken moved forward to shut that poisonous mouth. Ran lifted a hand. There was no blade in it, but the gesture drew Ken's attention to his eyes. They stopped Weiss' Siberian as surely as a gun.

Even Yohji gave Omi time to digest , like Asuka, he remembered Omi's bright hope of finding his family some day.

Whatever he felt about any of this, and it was a lot for even Omi to comprehend, he kept his face and his voice calm. At last he said, "You think I'm Mamoru Takatori?"

Ran said firmly, "That's a fact you'll have to live with."

"This is important to me. But why all this to tell me, and why now?"

Schuldig said, "Ouka." He shrugged. "I'd say if you two don't know about it, what's the harm? But Ran here..."

Botan said, "Shut up!" He put out his hand to Omi again, who didn't notice.

Omi tried to smile, not quite as pleasantly as usual. "Now, that proves you're lying. Manx would – Manx was - " He closed his eyes. He would remember Manx was in Persia's confidence. Oddly, it was Ran he asked. "Manx would have told me, wouldn't she?"

Schuldig opened his mouth. Ken, Botan and Asuka glared at him. Yohji looked over the tops of his sunglasses at the door. Even Bombay had forgotten the importance of watching their back. Yohji hadn't.

Ran said, "Manx has always let Persia do what he wants with you." From Ran's tension, Ken thought he found this as difficult as he would himself. "I'm not a telepath, but I think they would have decided it wasn't important enough to disturb their plans for."

Everyone looked at Schuldig, even Ran. "Hey! I don't enjoy rooting around in Takatori minds. Present company excepted."

Asuka stated, rather than asked, "You're here to delay us, aren't you. These things are important to us, but why tell us now?"

Schuldig gave her another smirk of admiration. She was proud of Yohji for not rising to the bait. "Close, but not quite. And just to prove it, we'll let you get on with serving – sorry, I mean saving - Persia. Remember Takatori Industries is here to serve you." Firmly grasping his wrist, Ran dragged him away after he'd whistled the first few notes of their annoying little jingle.

Asuka rolled her eyes. Probably it was a good thing Schwarz weren't proper enemies, but sometimes she thought it would simplify things if they could just fight. She took out her cell phone and pressed a number, "Manx. Botan is unharmed."

Manx' voice said coldly, "Can I speak to him?"

Asuka hadn't really noticed before how little Manx trusted them. And there she'd assumed this restriction was for if they were captured. Assumptions...

Still standing close to Omi, Botan accepted Asuka's cell phone and began soothing words to it. His eyebrows rose. "Weiss Two? Not a sign." He listened and began frowning. "It's Ayame who enjoys the work. He'll go after your female staff, saying it's for interrogation or something. Hey?" He handed the cell phone back to Asuka, saying, "It looks like Weiss Two found Kritiker first. I know where the headquarters is. You?"

Omi looked at them. Hardly hesitating, "Under police headquarters."

Yohji said, "Of course. Where else?"

Ken said, "Why the hell should we lift a finger for either Manx or Persia?"

Omi looked unhappy, but determined. It was Yohji, always less personal about the team, who said, "We're not Weiss because we're friends with Persia and Manx."

As Kenwas still frowning, Botan added, "It's not just Manx and Persia. There's a lot of people in Kritiker headquarters who don't deserve to be targets."

Omi directed them more precisely to find the entrance as they raced downstairs. Botan was still at their heels. He told them, "I'm coming."

The police building was floodlit, and several streets around it. Squads of armed and flak-jacketed men were patrolling the streets, occasionally letting off a round at some shadow. Asuka asked, "Is there a back door?"

Omi said, "Might be several. I don't know them."

Weiss looked at Botan, who shook his head. "But won't Weiss Two be either dead or escaped by now? The guys are good, but I don't think they can take on all that."

Used to it from the other side, Yohji shrugged. "They'll only have to face a fraction of this force at any time. Looks to me as if they're concentrating on guarding the legit building."

Omi took out his cell phone and dialed again. He held it up for them all to hear. First there was no voice, but automatic shots. Then Manx' voice, out of breath, "Left the entrance open. Hurry, Bombay!"

Weiss looked at the floodlit building. Yohji asked, "Any chance of a power cut?"

Omi said, "Take too long." Asuka, at least, braced for a head down charge. "But all we have to do is blind them. If not with dark, with light. Botan, do you value your car?"

"It's a rental."

"Balinese, for once I _want_ you to drive Kudoh-style. Siberian, Ocicat. Back seat and low." Botan piled in behind them. Once they were set and the engine revving, "Everyone, close your eyes." Even through her eyelids, Asuka saw light blaze.

Kudoh must have started driving with his eyes still closed. Someone shot at them even before the first blinding flare eased. No one in the car was quite hit, but Asuka was sure the armed police must have hit quite a few on their own side.

At about the fourth final-sounding crash Yohji said, "Entrance one fifty degrees, five feet." The wrecked car screened them as they piled in and through what looked like a small ventilation outlet, but swung out with its surrounding concrete. The empty top of a lift shaft faced them. The door behind them began to swing shut again.

Asuka aimed a torch beam for Yohji to attach the end of his wire to the machinery at the top of the shaft. He said, "Going down!" Ken held the door open with his shoulder long enough to give the rest time to start down, and steadied the uncertain Botan when it was his turn to abseil down into the pitch dark. Asuka figured the climb down over thirty feet.

The bottom was the roof of the lift. Omi had got through a lot of lift roofs in his time, but his hands were shaking hard. Asuka said calmly, "Tsukiyono or Takatori, you are Bombay." Omi looked at her, then at them all, and nodded.

Breaking through was quite easy, after all.

Normally, they'd have called the narrow, metal-lined corridor dim, but they blinked for a moment as they took time to weigh its sharp bend and dark, open doors. A dead man lay in the foyer, neatly if bloodily beheaded. If there ever was a place for a cautious advance, this was it. Then a woman screamed. Ken ran towards her at full speed.

Full speed turned out to be the right method. When they came to a set of cubicles, all three members of Weiss Two had cornered several women at one end. Azami and Rinzou were on their feet, weapons poised. Ayame was crouching over a woman lying on the floor. His body screened some of her, but Weiss could see her red hair, and red jacket, and long, blood-streaked legs.

Still in the lead, Ken charged toward them. Several arrows had pierced Ayame by the time he reached them. He turned on Azami, who had leaped back and was drawing his violin bow with a deep note that set terror in Asuka's bones. Before he could draw fully, Ken almost casually disembowelled him.

Slightly to one side, Rinzou had time to let fly steel cards. Ken grabbed the one aimed at him and crushed it. The second cut Yohji's wire as it looped toward Rinzou. Yohji snapped it off and pulled another length from his watch. The third slammed into Asuka's right wrist. If her leather glove hadn't been reinforced it would have sliced her hand off completely. As it was, she dropped her crossbow with a curse, though she caught it again with her left hand.

Arriving last, Botan was just in time to see Rinzou throw a card at Omi. Botan tried to shield Omi with his body.

This also shielded Rinzou from Omi. Asuka tripped Botan with her crossbow stock. Omi already had an arrow on his string, and he fired at the same time as Rinzou. The arrow pierced the death card and carried it back to nail it over Rinzou's heart.

Between Weiss Three's entry until Rinzou's death had taken less than twenty seconds. Asuka was almost disappointed at how easy it had been. Still, four to three...

Manx was still alive. Looking at what Ayame had done to her, Asuka knew she couldn't last long.

Omi knelt beside her. He reached out to comfort, but it looked as if any touch could only hurt. "Manx-san, hold on! We'll get a doctor."

Manx looked at him. Then she looked through him, ignoring him for something in her mind. "Shuichi, ai - ai shiteru -" So she died.

As far as Asuka was concerned, that made her a fool as well as a bitch.

For Omi's sake, she let a few moments pass in silence. Then she moved forward and asked the other women, "Is there anyone here who could use a doctor?"

"No." A mousy-pretty, little brown-haired woman was the first to speak. Seeing a flash like steel in those big dark eyes, Asuka thought she might be as tough as Manx when needed. "Kitada-san rallied the secretaries to cover Sage's retreat, but she put herself between us and the sadist."

Yohji sounded almost disappointed when he asked, "So Persia's safe, then?"

"His bodyguard is the best fighter in Kritiker. Shion will take care of him."

* * *

"It's a mystery," Schuldig said, not for the first time. He was enjoying this. "The head of Kritiker has vanished into thin air. Has he reformed and entered a Buddhist monastery? Is he forming an even more elite group of even more strangely armed assassins? Not even Essett's most prestigious Oracle – ow!" He rubbed his ankle and glared at Ran.

His lover thought at him, _Crawford will take it out on Silvia later. _

Schuldig heaved a martyred sigh but kept quiet. He'd been proud of being able to appease Ran's qualms while turning Weiss Three against Persia. It had been fun, anyway, even if it had all proved quite unnecessary. And it might still come in useful. Crawford hadn't had to smirk at him like that. He felt entitled to a little payback for that smirk. Crawford's not knowing any more about Persia's whereabouts than anyone else was a rare, rare opportunity.

Anyway, he'd got a good bakery out of it.

Crawford said, "It's a pity Kurasuma's holding Kritiker together so well, but he's a lightweight. The Essett agent Nakatsugawa should have no trouble taking over whenever we want."

Silvia suggested, "Takaoka?"

Crawford looked at Schuldig, who said, "She's taken over as Weiss' liaison, but she's more of a field agent than Manx was. I think Birman will have even less influence over Kritiker policy than Manx did."

* * *

"It's a mystery," said Ken.

Omi looked at him quizzically, "Persia – the old Persia's – disappearance?"

"Well, that, too. But I was thinking of the mysterious disappearance of Omi Tsukiyono." Ken circled half way around Omi. "He walks into a shop and out comes this young gentleman. Mamoru Takatori, I presume?"

"No! I am not a Takatori!" For once, Ken thought before he spoke. Omi might have guessed what he was going to say. They'd been friends for a long time. "I know. Persia thought up calling me Tsukiyono. But there were Tsukiyonos of Tsukiyono Castle before there were Takatoris. I don't know what they were like but they weren't Takatoris." He smiled back at Ken's grin.

Omi straightened his jacket the last millimetre. "These clothes were Ouka's idea." Ken winced. He was glad Omi still had Ouka. Indeed, they were more secure together as brother and sister. But that made Ouka Ken's sort-of-sister. He had a feeling Ouka as sort-of-sister was going to make interesting times. "I'm going to talk to Botan about tracing missing persons. Ouka thought he'd take me more seriously if I dressed as an adult."

Plus, learn if Botan was interested in Omi, or just schoolboys generally. It worried Ken to find he agreed with Ouka.

Though, looking at the quietly elegant young businessman, Omi Tsukiyono, Ken was fairly sure of the answer.


	13. Sakura

Sakura thought she was in good time to catch Ken before the end of his shift, but he had swapped it in order to have soccer coaching at a more convenient time for one pupil. For once, Asuka was sharing the shift with Omi. "Yohji's just going to visit to Momoe-san at the old folks' home," said Omi. "Would you care to go?"

It was a rather pro forma invitation, but Sakura accepted. Her own home was sometimes even lonelier when her parents were there.

Set into its own gardens, the old folks' home was definitely one of the better ones. Yohji said its receptionists knew the Koneko staff by sight, but he found himself called on to introduce both himself and Sakura. "Tomoe?" said one of the nurses. "You'll be looking for Tomoe-san, then?"

Another Tomoe? Sakura couldn't help wondering.

The visit to Momoe-san passed well. She was in a small, sunny living room, and she greeted them from the middle of a crowd of friends.

Once he'd been press ganged into the visit, Yohji was outrageously charming, flattering not only Momoe-san, but her friends as well. Sakura thought it was a bit much, flirting with Momoe-san, especially since her newly rediscovered old boyfriend Tokura-san was there. Tokura-san took his revenge by flirting with Sakura.

Eventually, Yohji refused an invitation to dinner with convincing regret. "My wife keeps me on a short leash, and I promised I'd be home for dinner." As they were leaving, he invited Sakura to dine at the Koneko.

Sakura would have liked to, but was fairly sure she'd already used up this week's allowance of invitations. She smiled back, and said she'd like to look in on this other Tomoe.

Tomoe-san wasn't sitting in a lounge with friends. Whether she was older than Momoe-san, she looked much frailer in bed. Her small bedroom looked even smaller from everything which had been crowded into it; old furniture Sakura suspected might be valuable antiques, overloaded with papers and photos she was sure couldn't be valuable at all. Not that all her stuff was old, there was a shiny new home entertainment centre, with all the extras.

Seeing the old lady huddled among the blankets, Sakura expected a short conversation, the old lady feeble in voice, and perhaps in mind. But alert, dark eyes opened and glared at her. She looked at Sakura more as a crow would than a human being. "I suppose they sent you to find out how much I know."

Sakura said, "Um, no."

"You just tell them I know enough. And if anything happens to me, they can be sure they'll be sorry." She paused only to draw a harsh, laboured breath. "You think you've got me trapped, don't you, and you can kill me at your leisure? I'm ready - "

Sakura blurted, "I'm sorry I bothered you." And fled.

* * *

The fangirls hadn't given Asuka a signature flower, though one or two of Yohji's most ardent had offered unflattering suggestions. Yohji made up for it by making hers whatever was the best in season. At the moment it was snowdrops, glowing like pearls on her black hair. As Sakura entered Asuka was scolding him for using all the best of the shop's stock for her wreath.

He defended himself. "I paid for it."

"Retail price, I bet. We're only shop assistants, we can't afford this sort of thing."

"Right. Hello, Sakura."

"Hello." Sakura walked up to the counter and looked them in the eye, trying to look grown up and business-like. If only she had a couple more inches. "I would like to hire the firm Kudoh and Kudoh."

She expected an initial brush off, disbelief. Not the brief flash of wariness in their eyes.

Yohji said, "The last time we hired out was a disaster."

Asuka said, "But I don't suppose Asuka wants us to go up against Riot."

"I don't know." Sakura told them about the old lady named Tomoe. "I'm afraid I ran."

"I would've run. too," Yohji assured her. "And I bet I can run faster than you."

Sakura wasn't so sure about that. Her running coach was very encouraging. "But later I thought, just maybe the doctors didn't know about her fears. So I rang the next day to ask. And she was dead."

Asuka acknowledged it with a nod, while Yohji tried to look sympathetic. "You know, that doesn't have to be murder. Old ladies get fancies, and old ladies die."

"I know. I've been telling myself that for days. But there's one thing. She had a new home entertainment centre. Would they have bothered to get someone on the point of dying one?"

Yohji nodded, with an appreciative smile. "But even if they didn't expect her to die, there could easily have been some blood clot..."

"That's what they said about my sister." Sakura found she was clasping her hands in supplication, and again tried to look grown up. "I know it's probably imagination, but as professional detectives, you're bound to look at things objectively, aren't you?"

Yohji looked amused. "I don't think that's in the code of conduct."

Asuka said, "We'll take the job. Junior discount."

Sakura dimpled. "Thanks very much! And...you will be careful?"

* * *

When he was sure Sakura had left the shop and was out of earshot, Yohji wilted against the counter. "Why on earth are you taking the kid's money?"

"I'll find an excuse to return most of it. You really want her running around asking the police, and God knows wh,o questions about our targets? Sakura's the sort to go to the press to stir up as big as stink as possible. We'll tell her she was mistaken."

"I'm sure that's against the PI's code of conduct."

"We're not PIs any more." Both Kudohs checked the door before she went on. "The hit goes tomorrow night. Then we can say we're sure the home's being run according to Hippocrates."

"She'll accept that?"

"With a nice fake report, she will."

Yohji grumbled, "Or maybe we could just hire Sakura, instead of Kritiker's network of informants. They didn't come up with much more information than her, and she's been on the case less than a week."

* * *

Yohji hadn't looking forward to writing the fake report for Sakura. Disoriented in darkness, flat on bleach scented carpet, now he thought perhaps it would be easier than Omi's true report to Persia. The trouble was, Weiss couldn't just charge into an old folks home, maybe burning it down to make sure.

Omi had got the dark beasts neatly penned into an operating room. Things should have been over in minutes.

But while Weiss had been killing most of them, someone had destroyed the lighting. A couple of survivors had betrayed their position by their panicked breathing. Which left one, whose knowledge of the terrain might lead him to escape Weiss. At one end of the room, Omi had lit his little pencil torch. It was chosen for how little light it would scatter, so Omi was having to search the long room almost inch by inch. Yohji considered doing likewise, but that would mean his hands were occupied, and he'd probably only get a very brief chance at the target.

If they'd reacted a bit quicker...If they had a team member who was quick enough to keep up with Ken's impulsive charges, but long headed enough to know what to do with them...Yohji decided he was wasting time. He poked his head around a corner and cracked it into a wall.

He forgot the pain when he heard a pair of feet which didn't belong to a teammate, running flat out. They were behind him, which meant the door was opposite from where he'd thought.

Ken didn't bothered with geographical speculation. He dived straight for the footsteps. Yohji could tell from the spectacular crash of his colliding with trays of equipment.

Yohji grabbed for his torch, hoping Asuka could shoot the target if he lit him. Before he'd touched it, he heard the sound of the door opening. The faint whisper of arrows came from two directions. The odds were against even Bombay and Occicat. But Yohji heard the familiar little exhaled grunt, which meant not only a hit but a kill.

He lit his torch and threaded his way, through bodies and trashed surgical equipment, to join the others at the door. No wonder Siberian had crashed into something, he'd done well to get as far as he had. He asked, "Think anyone heard us?"

"One person did." Omi's little torch beam spotlit the target's throat. Not an arrow, but a shuriken.

Asuka asked, "Who?"

Omi said, "A veteran Kritiker agent who lives here."

* * *

Kudoh had explained the patients in the nursing home would be upset if the murders were publicised, so it had been done very quietly, but there were new faces in both top management and the workers. Sakura knew the case was settled, tidy and satisfactorily.

But on a deeper level she also knew there was something wrong. At unexpected times, her nerves jabbed. She was being watched, she knew that.

Sometimes she could have sworn it was by a pair of eyes more like a crow's than a human's, even if they were set in a human face.

* * *

Yohji looked unusually sincere, but Ken knew the older man was better at bullshit than he was at detecting it. "So, I left out a few things, like Weiss, and Momoe-san's identity, and just how many were involved. But my report to Sakura was actually quite true. And she doesn't believe it."

"She believes you well enough."

"What's she worrying about, then? I thought it was a very satisfactory resolution." He confided, "I particularly liked the bit about the fragile old lady being drugged at the time, so she won't remember what happened."

"I'm sure it was a work of art," said Ken. "Sakura is pleased about that. But the old lady who died... I think she feels guilty about that. She says she feels her eyes on her. I suppose she did die? She could have arranged it to look..." His voice tailed off at Yohji's pitying look.

Yohji said briskly, "It's Sakura's imagination. She's a very responsible girl. She even feels a bit responsible for her elder sister's death, and I guess this reminds her."

Still, it was the time Sakura should have been in after school. She wasn't. Ken started feeling uneasy.

Yohji slapped Ken's shoulder. "We've sleeping in, tonight, so you can pop in tomorrow, before school. But you're not getting out of your shift that easy."

Asuka said, "Ken, we tease you about Sakura being your girlfriend. I'm not sure how serious you are, and I don't think Sakura is either."

Ken thought about how Sakura's face brightened when she saw him, and how he felt himself warm in response. "She makes me happy, and I want to make her happy."

"Then get a large box of expensive chocolates, and tell her."

Yohji frowned, "Kid..." He trailed off with relief as he saw Ken glance at his watch. "It can wait till later."

Ken bought the chocolates. The most expensive the confectioner had.

Overflowing with good intentions and chocolate scents, Ken arrived at the Tomoe house at first light. He knocked at the front door of the Tomoe house. Of course, she wasn't at home.

And of course, all doors were locked. Ken might not have the Kudoh expertise, but he breezed through the civilian locks. He looked around all the clean efficiency and decided he'd seen homier motels. No wonder Sakura hung around the shop as much as she could.

There was a whiteboard on the kitchen wall. The long list of household duties and overseas phone numbers had as the bottom item the name of a well known Nichiren temple, with the word dawn.

Ken looked at his watch, decided he might make it, and ran for his bike.

The temple was beautiful, and historic, and surrounded by lots of little shops. As he pressed into crowds and close walls, Siberian moved uneasily under his skin.

Despite his ceremonial silks, the temple doorman had the air of a hotel receptionist. He recognised Ken's description. "The Tomoe party, yes. The elder Tomoe was very – nervous. She insisted the younger receive cold water purification." Both men looked at the wind dappled late winter sky.

With a courteous smile, he handed Ken a mimeographed floor plan, pointing out the directions. As soon as Ken was out of sight, he pulled a cell phone out from his medieval silks.

Ken found he didn't need to follow the directions for long. Soon enough, he heard a loud female voice, as unlike Sakura's as possible. Ken couldn't make out much from her rant, except she was hostile. He picked up speed. When he approached the fountain in front of the Shinto annexe, and actually saw what was happening, he ran.

Sakura was backing away from a large, loud, middle-aged female, who was waving her arms. There was a smallish, elderly priest trying to hold her back, but every time he got a grip on her, she threw him off, apparently not even noticing. He stood back and, picking a green branch from the floor, began reciting mantras.

Ken got between her and Sakura. Just seeing him seem to enrage her. She pulled out a knife.

He grasped one forearm. He expected to be able to hold her easily, but she was frighteningly strong. The smell of anger and madness rolled off her. It woke Siberian's killing rage, and he snarled at her. Jolted out of her own madness into fear, she struck at him wildly with the knife blade. Ken would have dodged it easily, but Sakura managed to grab her wrist. The blade veered, gashing his side.

The madwoman jumped away, not even noticing Sakura, who was still clinging determinedly to her wrist. Siberian followed them, knocking them both into the fountain to get at the older woman.

Ken came out from the water, and blinked in confusion. His anger didn't normally switch off as easily as this. Siberian wouldn't have gone permanently, things weren't that easy. But he seemed to have separated a little. Surely a few Buddhist prayers wouldn't cure even a Buddhist so easily.

Perhaps it was the Christian who'd been helped, reminded of baptism.

Also confusing was the fight. Sakura seemed to have doubled. No, tripled. Among the sprays of water were three young girls fighting the madwoman. He said, "No, girls. You'll drown her."

"Good thing!" said Ouka. But perhaps she didn't quite mean it. The three of them drew back. Sakura had the knife.

Several large, brawny members of the staff, who'd been hanging around, neither useful nor ornamental, rushed in to collect the strange woman. They bore her away, seeming experienced. One reached for Sakura, too. Ken grabbed his collar and shook briefly.

Though he did feel like grabbing and shaking Sakura himself. He managed not to shout at everyone. "This is not the right treatment for a dangerous lunatic."

Ouka protested, "We didn't know she was violent!"

Sakura said, "She was having _me_ purified." She walked toward Ken and the others backed away, a little. "We knew she was crazy, but we thought it might make her feel better. Her mother was one of the nursing home victims. So I let her read the Kudoh report. She didn't believe it." Ken twitched guiltily. "I mean, she believed it as far as it went, but she always has to think there's something behind things."

Ken said, "Those doctors killed their patients for their money, and fake expenses."

"Yes, but Tomoe-san, both Tomoe-sans, thought there must be a reason for them to act like that. After all, most doctors don't. She thought they'd been taken over by hungry ghosts."

"But why purify you?"

"It seemed to her mother, and her, they'd sent me to her. I don't believe in this stuff, of course, but she'd just lost her mother. If it made her feel better..."

Ken reached out, then thought better of it. "If you were a couple of years older, I'd kneel at your feet and ask you to marry me."

Sakura looked up with glowing eyes. They'd drifted closer together than he'd realised. "I can wait."

Ouka suggested, "Ask her anyway."

Ken jerked back. With this audience, Romeo in the balcony scene would have lost his nerve and started babbling of soccer averages. "Don't you have anyone else to pester?"

It was Aya who said, "Honestly, Sakura could do with someone. She's got this opening in a good university overseas..."

* * *

The voice broadcasting over the airport was loud and enthusiastic. Anyone who already knew what it meant to say, might have understood the words 'Air France'.

Yohji and Asuka couldn't miss who they were after. Shaggy brown hair, orange sweater around his waist, and Sakura clinging to his arm. They walked over to the pair, Yohji sure of his argument.

As it was, "You should get a better quality wig, Ran."

Ran took off the brown wig, which was slipping already, and looked at it. "Does the job."

Asuka said, "I suppose if we had the plane stopped and searched for suspected terrorists, we wouldn't find any better variety of Hidaka."

"Seeing is believing." Ran smiled his faint smile. "Or you could stop all traffic in Narita, foreign and domestic."

Yohji looked around the wide, blue, unlimited sky. "I'm never going to know, am I?"

"I hope not."

Asuka just had to know. "Were you actually going to fly off to France?"

Aya-chan assured her, "I brought my toothbrush." The Kudohs looked at her thoughtfully. She looked at them reproachfully. "Honestly, how _could_ you?"

Yohji asked warily, "You mean - "

Ran said, "Helping the flower shop owner insist on that unfairly long notice. Could have ruined Ken's life."

Yohji looked at him, then at Aya.

Asuka said, "He convinced me. We're not in this business for friendship."

Aya said indignantly, "Ken didn't know that! He _trusted_ you!"

Yohji said to Ran, "And you and Ken are such good friends."

"Good enough." A few minutes later, when Aya was distracted by some Christian nuns, Ran told him softly, "You might be willing to risk Asuka, I'm not going to risk Aya."


	14. Midori

Rustling of chocolate papers. "Okay I take the last strawberry?"

"I like liquorice better. You're sitting on my magazine. Anything new?"

"He's got an PhD in boring." Slipping in an new cassette, "Have you heard this new one?"

Ouka and Aya were on stake out.

It wasn't illegal, as Ouka was careful to rehearse for her mother. They'd hired a small greenhouse on the roof of the second tallest building in the neighbourhood, borrowing a few horticultural props from Omi to make it look less unconvincing. They'd also brought in a few home comforts from their own bedrooms. Plus, in July, the sun umbrella and ice box were practically necessities.

If the landlord didn't know what they were using it for – he probably thought they were using it to grow pot – they hadn't actually lied to him.

Besides, it was a matter of clear and urgent need. A defense lawyer who killed inconvenient witnesses, and Midori was a witness.

Ouka ignored the nagging worry the cops might be right, and Midori was just a teenager trying to get attention. Botan certainly thought so, but Botan could scarcely be expected to be fair to a girl who was blatantly chasing _his _Omi.

The very reason she and Midori disliked each other was grounds for believing her. Both she and Midori were alpha females. Indeed, Midori chasing Omi reminded Ouka of herself, before she'd had a good brother. Although, Ouka was sure she wouldn't have chased Omi if he'd been obviously happy with a lover. Almost sure. Ouka knew she'd never have stooped to slanders to attract Omi's sympathy, so she thought it unlikely Midori would.

Also, as she was the first to admit, it was kind of nice to impress Midori. And send her out on errands.

The last thought was prompted by the sight of Midori darting across the roof, in a manner furtive enough to draw anyone's attention. She was at the same time juggling one super-size pizza, three milkshakes, and enough pocky sticks to build a medium sized house. "Has he done anything?" she asked the other two hopefully.

Aya took a quick glance through her binoculars to make sure. The little greenhouse was an excellent vantage point to watch the penthouse of the tallest building in the neighbourhood. It was very hard to miss Kinugawa's office. Blatantly against all earthquake regulations and commonsense, a large part of it was a perspex balcony jutting over the street. Shameless, selfish, and exhibitionist.

Ouka told herself her father wasn't that bad.

More important, the girls' vantage point overlooked the parking lot behind the building. They'd been taking down the names, numbers, and times of everyone who parked there. Most of them, of course, had nothing to do with Kinugawa. Even more of them would say they had nothing to do with Kinugawa.

Ouka's hand hesitated between pizza and milkshake. Aya was taking a long time to say 'no', wasn't she? She looked at her friend.

Aya was frowning. To herself, "Where did _you_ come from?" She held on firmly to the field glasses, as both the other girls snatched at them. "Two guys, or is it three? They seem to be filling in forms. And there are photos, and all sorts of papers."

"Perhaps I'll recognise one of them," suggested Midori cunningly. Though once she'd admitted she didn't, she made no attempt to return the binoculars. Ouka practically had to use physical force to get her turn.

"One of them's phoning!" Ouka again mourned the strange way their phone bugging equipment had been found immediately. Just as with Crawford. They'd followed all the instructions, too.

It was Midori who spoke for all of them. "If only we could get close enough to listen."

Someone else spoke. "Actually, they're only phoning for pizza."

The three girls stayed still under the steady eye of a gun. She noticed it even before she noticed that it was Kinugawa who was holding it. She felt unlike herself, frozen and helpless. Thinking was like wading through rough water.

Aya made to step sideways, to get at Kinugawa from an angle. The man's attention focused on her, and she stopped, raising her hand to her head. Ouka felt the pall of despair lifting and gathered herself. Kinugawa looked back at her. Both Aya and Midori blinked, as if waking.

Kinugawa blinked himself. Then he raised the gun to remind them. "Those are wannabe lawyers. They're filling in a nice arrangement of forms to apply for a job as my assistant. Even if it occurs to the police I'm a suspect, they'll be prepared to swear I was just in the next room, and could never have had time to go to another building, take a private lift to the roof, shoot three people, and traipse all the way back again."

Ouka had occasionally wondered why story villains took the time to explain their plans to their victims. Now, looking into Kinugawa's oddly bright eyes, she suspected it was because he had to tell someone. Even his unsavoury clients were unlikely to admire the killing of three schoolgirls.

She was responsible for their being in this fix. To bring his attention to her, she said, "My father won't be satisfied with anything less than the truth."

He looked at her, saw what she was doing, and amused at it. He sneered. He opened his mouth to speak, and screamed instead.

Already set for it, all three girls jumped toward him, before they saw it wasn't needed. His right arm hung helpless, the elbow snapped right around. Aya's brother, Ran, was standing behind him.

Ran punched his head too quickly for her to follow. The weight which had slowed her thinking vanished. Ran's deep voice said, flat and toneless as she'd never heard it, "Just in case you were thinking of running..." something bright gleamed in his hand, at Kinugawa's leg, before it came away red and Kinugawa staggered, blood running down his leg.

Aya said in a thin, high voice, "Ran-niisan!"

Ran said to her, "He was going to shoot you." To all three girls, "If Kinugawa goes to a court of law – well, he knows all the legal and illegal tricks. Crawford thinks Takatori should have him. Crawford was the one who warned me you were in danger."

For once Ouka was speechless. Midori asked, "How is Kinugawa-san - um, Kinugawa - going to get there?"

"He'll manage." To Kinugawa, "Won't you?" using the disrespectful form of you.

The men looked at each other for a moment. Ouka had the idea they were communicating in some mysterious, masculine way. Then Kinugawa nodded and took off his tie. When Ran lifted his knife again, Kinugawa said, "If I don't staunch it, I'll bleed to death. Is that what you want?" Whatever Ran wanted, he let Kinugawa stop the blood flow.

Grey faced, Kinugawa scrambled across the roof to the lift. Ouka wondered if her friends shared her impulse to help him. Aya looked unhappily at Ran, who was looking implacable. Ouka was glad her brother wasn't like that.

Once they'd got down to the street and bundled Kinugawa into the boot of Ran's second hand Toyota, Midori began to look a bit queasy. It made Ouka realise she was a bit queasy herself. She wondered how to reassure the other two.

Aya-chan said, "Midori, when you tell Omi about this, you won't have to tell him about Ran actually hurting Kinugawa, will you? You can just say he took his took his gun away."

Midori perked up at the thought of Omi. "Sure. That did happen, after all. Can you drop me off at the shop?" To these girls, Tokyo had one main shop.

When they'd seen her safely inside and chattering at Omi, Aya answered Ouka's reproachful look. "Okay, it wasn't kind to Omi. But do you really want her to know more about what happens to Kinugawa-sa-? You two aren't exactly friends, you know."

Remembering Midori at her worst, shocked her with a sudden stab of anger. Ran frowned and glanced backward toward the boot, and the anger disappeared suddenly. She blinked, focusing on the present, and saw they weren't heading directly to Takatori Towers. She looked round and saw Ran was drawing up behind a funeral home.

Almost as if he sensed it, there was a flurry of activity in the boot.

Aya-chan asked unhappily, "Is this where...Are you actually going to kill him, niisan?"

Ran parked. "Takatori invoked the privileges of rank. He wants to speak to the man who came so close to shooting his daughter."

When Ran dragged Kinugawa out of the boot, the lawyer looked so like a cornered rat, Ouka half expected him to bite Ran. Then she heard her father's voice and ran into his arms.

It should have been the happy ending. Briefly, Ouka wished Ran had killed Kinugawa, quickly and humanely, of course, so her father wouldn't be looking at him like that.

Takatori gave his daughter a final hug and let her go. "I need to talk to this Kinugawa-dirt in private."

Ran advised, "Keep a few guards. Armed." To the girls, "Silvia's brewed you a pot of tea. Sweet tea's just what you need, now. Then we can take you home."

Tea with her father's bodyguards, or at least with Crawford, was not something Ouka felt like right now. But it probably would help Aya-chan.

Crawford had requisitioned an overly air conditioned office, furnished in black, and faintly reeking of ash. Here the undertaker spoke with the families of the dead. It was not the sort of place to give the impression of a happy ending. Nor did the faces of Schwarz.

Crawford was behind the desk, of course. He focused his tiger-eyed attention on Ouka. "Unknown to your father, there's a one way intercom between this room and the one where he and Kinugawa are speaking. I've no more idea than you what he's going to say, but I think you should hear it." Aya-chan opened her mouth, and he shook his head at her. He pressed the button.

Ouka didn't want to hear her father talking like that. It wasn't so much the obscenities. It was he could threaten such horrible things. Aya's brother had just reacted in hot blood, after all. But her father sounded so normal. She found herself gripping Aya's hand for reassurance.

Reiji Takatori seemed to be running low on breath, and Kinugawa's richer voice overrode him easily. "You'll do none of this. On the contrary. If I need it, you'll help me take care of Midori. I represent Essett, and they're the people who are going to make you the ruler of Japan, as long as you live. Want to face Fujimiya without Essett backing?" It took Ouka a second to remember he was talking about Aya's mother.

Reiji spluttered a bit more. They said something about Masafumi Ouka didn't understand, and then something about money. Ouka understood that all right. Kinugawa seemed to know Takatori's magic word, practical. Takatori said, "My daughter won't stand back and let Midori be killed."

"If she loves you, she'll do what you tell her. If she doesn't, it will be her own fault."

There was no protest from her father. Aya threw up her head and almost snarled, "That's enough!" She eyed Crawford, as if wondering where to start cutting. Silvia was watching both Fujimiyas tensely.

Schuldig was watching Ran. The shifting lights of his eyes were harder to read than Ran's impassivity. For once, he tried to calm things. "We've warned Omi. His contacts'll help hide Midori."

Crawford said to Aya, "I killed your father on Reiji Takatori's direct order."

Ouka tried to stand up with Aya, but they were both held into their seat by something invisible, far stronger than they were.

Crawford said to Ouka, "I haven't retaliated to your harassing me, and I could have. I could have ended it. My warning saved your lives."

Aya-chan's fingers curled as if she'd like to claw. She managed to move her head enough to glance sideways at her brother. Schuldig grabbed his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

Crawford said to Ran, "It will be safer for your sister, both sisters, if she stays out of Takatori business." Crawford looked at the girls again. "Wait in the car. I better remind your brother of a few things."

Ran nodded to Aya. Ouka was still too numb to do anything but let her friend steer her to the car. When they were sitting in the back seat, she leaned against Aya. Neither girl said anything.

They hadn't long to wait. Ran slid into the driver's seat, half his face showing a new bruise. Speaking as clearly as he could, he said, "I suggest you keep away from your mothers' house. When Kinugawa can't find Midori, he'll be after you to tell him where she might be. Is there somewhere your father doesn't know about?"

Surely her father wouldn't actually tell Kinugawa? Ouka tried not to cry like a little kid. Aya said, "Honjou-san's." She was glad to hear Ran knew Honjou, and where he lived. She turned her attention back to Ouka. "I cried lots when I lost my father."

* * *

Ran dismissed Schuldig's suggestion checking up on his sister's friends was rather stalker behaviour, in order to check his memory as to how she'd met Honjou. Would Kinugawa or Takatori know about it?

Certainly not Takatori. And Honjou would be low on Kinugawa's list. For all Ran knew, Kinugawa believed Honjou had been knocked off by Persia a year ago.

He automatically checked for a tail as they left the central city. His cheap little car became more and more conspicuous.

Ran had never actually seen the place, and he wondered if he'd got the address wrong. The address was a big, English mansion. It look like the British Embassy. It even had a butler, disappointingly Japanese. Ran looked suspiciously at the butler.

The butler looked suspiciously back. Then he frowned properly and hurried toward the car's back seat. "Ouka-san! Aya-san! What's the matter? How can I help?"

With a final blow of her nose, Ouka got out of the car and braced herself. Sometimes Ran thought her self confidence came from ignorance, but it looked as if she was prepared to back it up. "Nothing's changed, Suzuki-san. I've learned something, but it is better to know than not to know." She proceeded into the house, blue head high. Ran though she'd earned it.

Suzuki scowled at Ran. Ran ignored him and said to his sister, "Let me get Kaasan." He knew Ouka wouldn't want to be mothered, but he wasn't sure it would be a bad thing.

Aya shook her head. "Honjou-san will take care of us." She turned and smiled at a tall blond man in white approaching. Feeling jealousy he knew unworthy, Ran examined him.

He approved. Honjou put the girls before him. "Aya-chan?"

Following her friend, "We'll be fine. Can we have the bedrooms we had before?" Over her shoulder, "Take care of Ran."

Honjou looked at him. Ran hadn't known he had amber eyes, warm and keen. Ever since Schuldig had decided to play, Ran had tried to keep all his emotions frozen. He didn't like the way this good looking young man made him feel. He scowled at him. "I'm all right." Honjou touched the side of his own face and lifted an eyebrow. "Nothing compared to Ouka."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's found her father values money and power more than her life."

"Damn," said Honjou helplessly. "Still, I can't do anything about that, except give her space to grieve. I can give you an ice pack."

They didn't go into the kitchen, as Ran was expecting. Instead they went into a plush little living room, English as the exterior. Much time spent in this sort of surroundings, and a guy could learn to think of England as a safe home.

Suzuki fussed around, getting an icepack and being called Bellwood by Honjou. He gave the icepack to his employer, who reached for Ran's shoulder to steady himself. Ran flinched. Then hoped that flinch hadn't told Honjou more than Ran would have liked.

Honjou said, "You can hold it yourself, if you'd rather. How did she find out?"

"Crawford showed her."

Both Honjou's eyebrows went up. He could hardly have avoided hearing about Crawford. "Why should he care?"

"He didn't want both Takatoris after him."

Yuushi tried to hide a smile. "I'm a fan of Ouka's, but I wouldn't have thought her the more formidable of the two."

"She's not for sale."

"True enough." For a moment, Honjou watched Ran holding the icepack to his face, while Suzuki buttled around offering drinks. "Cocktails?"

Remembering the sophisticated American drinks Crawford liked, Ran said, "Sapporo."

Honjou looked a little disappointed. "Bellwood knows all sorts of fancy cocktails. And we've good wines, too, grape and rice. Or - "

"Your Sapporo, sir," said Suzuki.

Rearranging his icepack distracted Ran. Then he realised Honjou was talking about abusive partners. To him? Ran said, "You have the wrong Schwarz. This was Crawford, not Schuldig." He thought about Silvia. He wished there was something he could do for her. He wished there was something he could do for himself. He spoke firmly to Honjou, reminding himself. "There's nothing you can do. Please don't try. Crawford might not be the arch villain Ouka liked to think, but he's not a nice guy."

"I've got connections."

"Kritiker won't let you drag them into a war over this."

Honjou froze for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Thanks for the warning. But I wasn't thinking of Kritiker. I help at an orphanage, and we work with agencies like women's shelters...I mean..."

More to himself, Ran said, "Silvia loves him. At least..." he frowned. How could she miss seeing what using her was doing to him? Crawford was getting more and more self indulgent about his displays of bad temper. Even Schuldig was worried.

Not about the occasional blow. By Rosenkreuz standards they were nothing. But Crawford's grand visions of his demon's paradise seemed to have narrowed, showing only him, not the team.

Suzuki left them to their drinks, saying he would inform Mrs Fujimiya and Sakaki of their daughters' stay. Honjou looked at the beginnings of sunset and offered a bedroom. Ran stiffened. Honjou said hurriedly, "As a guest. Just to sleep."

A night alone would be such a break. Even worth admitting, "I'll have to ask permission." Honjou didn't say anything. Ran scowled. "That's the way it is."

"You'll be welcome as a guest. Bellwood does Japanese cuisine, European, he's got a few Indian dishes he'll try out on you if you don't watch out." Honjou looked at the beer in Ran's hand, and grinned. "He'll even serve hamburgers, if that's what you want."

Ran smiled back hesitantly.


	15. Nicol

Takatori might need this sub rosa fund drive, but Takatori Enterprises still had the resources for a big building project. Whatever Ran thought of his brains, Reiji knew the importance of stressing that. He'd invited his two important guests to eat actually in one of his construction sites.

He'd had one of the restaurant's dining rooms finished well ahead of schedule. High above the scurrying worker ants, among the cranes and scaffolding, they sat in a room of established luxury. The wait staff had been sent out before the meal began, which made Ran feel even more like a specimen in a bottle.

Takatori loved it, of course.

The architect had gone for wrap around, ceiling to floor windows. Schuldig gleefully sent to Ran Bevan's dislike of heights, while Nicol was just discovering he disliked very exposed places. Being midsummer, the noon glare gave people in the room rather a feeling of being under a spotlight, which didn't go comfortably with their business.

Ran was rather surprised he'd been ordered to guard this confidential meeting, he knew Crawford's policy. But Crawford had told him, and that was that. He'd an idea Schuldig knew why. Schuldig wasn't telling. He might indulge Ran by letting Weiss live, and Ran wasn't even sure that wasn't part of one of Crawford's schemes, but in things important to the team Schuldig was loyal to Crawford.

So all four members of Schwarz stood around the air conditioned room, concealing their boredom, while Takatori tried to get financial backing from the US government.

That, at least, was what the meeting was said to be. Takatori quite rightly could, and did, say he was against socialism, and was being targeted by the left. But when he started talking about the big amounts available to individual Americans, the reason he had selected these two was clear.

Schuldig made it equally clear to Schwarz both Takatori's guests were a bit miffed. Nicol hated sitting here in a glass case and bright light. The fewer people who knew where he was, the safer he felt. General James Powell hadn't been able to make it from Kyoto, and wouldn't have wanted if he could. He'd sent his old NCO. Major Bevan felt loyalty to Powell, but was aware he had stepped over a line, and didn't like it. He picked up a glass of bottled water, sipped, and said, "So, how much are we talking about?"

"Thirty million US dollars."

What Bevan might have said to this, after he'd mopped the water from his lap, is unknown. It was just then a crane smashed a five ton girder of steel against the window.

The furniture quivered slightly. The guests jumped. Takatori said indignantly, "Crawford!"

Crawford said, "As you can see, Takatori Enterprises builds with the best materials. Our bullet proof glass can stand up to anything."

Nicol said suspiciously, "Is this a demonstration? Because it's a bit too high pressure."

He looked at the end of the girder, resting in spider webbed, unbroken glass. And the squad of ski masked riflemen riding the girder, who seemed to be arguing. Unbalanced against the window, the girder slowly toppled horizontally, swinging round to smash sideways against glass, which webbed into more cracks, but still did not break.

On the team link, Silvia asked Schuldig, /They are after Takatori?/ Normally she wouldn't have had to ask, but now the guests were an influential mafioso and the envoy of a corrupt US general.

/No. They want Nicol./

"Not on our part," Crawford assured Nicol. "Jaeger, Fujimiya, take care of them."

Ran reached up above his head to the air conditioning vent in the ceiling, pulled it open, and swung up and out. Schuldig was on his heels.

They balanced on a curved roof. Two hundred feet above the ground, a cold breeze cut through their thin, white suits.

They jumped outward, landing on opposing end of the girder, with the men between them. The depth of air snatched at Ran's heels.

He'd found before that, at close quarters, a sword is surprisingly effective against armed men. These were still off balance, and they were getting in each other's way. The first few he'd cut down before they even realised he had a sword. Their bodies fell ungainly and fast, some dead, some dying.

Few of the quick fired bullets came near him, and those he managed to deflect with his blade. His strokes were less skewed than their rifle shots by the girder's shudders. On the other side of the mob, he could hear the lighter snap of Schuldig's revolver mixed with the rifle fire. Schuldig's voice spoke smoothly within his mind. /The guy with the red ski mask is the leader. Crawford wants us to bring him in alive./

Ran nodded, beheading the last two between him and the red mask with one sweep of his sword. /And the crane operator?/

/A bribed hardhat who's already running./

The man with the red mask was facing Schuldig. Schuldig liked balancing on the razor's edge, his smile showed white, sharp teeth. Schulding's words were mainly to distract their opponent. "I can fire my revolver before you can aim that cannon."

Red Mask ignored him, and tried. He would have failed even if Ran hadn't struck him from behind.

As the lean man began to crumple, Ran scooped him up and across his shoulder in a fireman's lift. He thought he was slipping in the blood, then realised the girder was beginning to tilt.

Schuldig looked distracted for a moment, peering down at the bodies smashed on the concrete. Workers were hurrying around them. He raised his gun and Ran grasped the wrist, sending /You can't be sure of your aim with this footing./

/Might have worked./

As the girder tilted further, Ran grabbed at one of the cables suspending it from the crane.

Schuldig said /Hand me the Scaffolding Sure Shot./

Ran kept his face blank, but he hated not being as fast and strong as his partner. /Get a foothold first./

Schuldig's grin widened. He leaped down and across, about ten feet, landing on some bare scaffolding. He leaned in a casual manner against an upright beam. Aloud he said, "I can see our building from here!"

Trying to brace his feet on the slick surface, Ran carefully grasped the unconscious man, before throwing him. The recoil made him slip, but he slapped down against the girder on falling. The weight of steel seemed to shiver and brace itself back in position like a live thing.

On the mental link, he heard Crawford telling Silvia to keep her mind on her own job, as he landed on the ledge three feet from Schuldig.

The telepath adjusted the man over his shoulder, sent /Next time you might want to cut it a bit less fine/ and led the way up the unwalled fire escape.

Bevan looked at them, looked at the prisoner, looked at Takatori, and said, "Thirty million dollars?"

Nicol said gently, "Major," and nodded at their prisoner.

Schuldig lay him out at Crawford's feet. Ran caught Schuldig wondering whether to place one of the centrepiece's flowers on his chest. Crawford bowed to Takatori, who bustled up, to kick the prisoner in the ribs as a matter of course. "Come on, man. Take his mask off!"

Schuldig sent /This is always a big moment in the Batman movies./

He was remarkably good looking. Add to that angel face, hair which really was golden, eyes a pure blue as pale as silver. _A new toy for Schuldig. _Ran felt the great knot in him ease a little. He didn't think Schwarz would let him just walk away, but it would be over.

No one knew the young man. Crawford nodded to Ran, who emptied a silver ewer of chilled Evian water over his head. Eventually, he spluttered awake. When only semi-conscious he tried to get up, apparently hoping to strangle Nicol with his bare hands. Takatori absently kicked him down again.

"I _don't_ know him!" Nicol told Takatori again. Obviously, to Nicol, someone trying to kill him didn't have to know him personally.

The young man spoke in English, which Ran knew. "You killed my father! Your car bomb blew him to bits!"

Nicol asked, "Which one was this?"

"His name was _Chappell_!"

"Oh, yes. An Internal Affairs cop. Real prig. Didn't think he'd have left you enough money for your own private army."

When Chappell tried to get up again, Crawford stepped in between him and Takatori. A sharp knife appeared in Chappell's hand. Crawford took it. Chappell managed to stand. Still concentrating on Nicol, "From the Council of Ten. They've got lots more, and they'll get you!"

Bevan looked as blank as Takatori. Schuldig brought their employer up to date. "The Council of Ten? America's Kritiker doesn't even have its own assassination squad! Had to rely on you, untrained."

"And I nearly got him. The next one will."

Schuldig swaggered forward, smiling a white-toothed smile. "Chappell..." he began. The young man turned and looked at him uncertainly.

Schuldig shot him dead. He looked deliberately at Ran.

Ran braced himself. Not over, then.

And he wouldn't think of being a bit more to Schuldig than just something to play with. He couldn't cope with that.

Crawford frowned slightly, then turned back to both Nicol and Bevan. "Not while Schwarz is protecting you."

"And if Schwarz stops protecting us?"

Crawford stepped back and waved at the door. "You can walk out any time and take your chances."

Nicol had a sneer almost as good as Crawford's. "You know, this floor show is damn convenient for Takatori Enterprises. A guy might wonder if they had something to do with arranging it."

But not as smug as Crawford's. "Mr Nicol, for what you suggest, we would have needed to know what Chappell was thinking. We would have been able to tell just what time he would strike."

"Might have needed to control the door knocker, too," suggested Schuldig, who always overdid his flavouring.

Bevan asked, "Thirty million dollars?"

Takatori huffed. "Thirty million dollars would be small change in your Presidential elections. Besides, most of it you'll raise here." He looked at Nicol. "Once you stop piddling around with low price, high risk items like machine guns." Nicol bridled. He was proud of his arms running business. "The yakuza are moving a big load of drugs tonight. More than half that amount. With your troops, we can hijack them easily. And that's just for starters." Schuldig said he'd practically bust a frontal lobe getting Takatori to let the Americans in on the action. All that lovely money...But they were going to need the Americans to take on the yakuza. And the yakuza had the money.

Nicol scowled. Among other things, he was probably unpleasantly surprised to find Takatori had such a good idea of what to do.

Bevan said, "Tonight?"

Everyone looked at him in surprise. Crawford said, "You _can_ get a squad of marines ready, with a whole afternoon?"

"What do I tell them?"

Takatori said, "They're soldiers, aren't they?"

Crawford said, "You tell them we're taking drugs off the yakuza. They won't care too much what happens about the drugs later." Ran could believe the American Army had some pretty rocky incidents with the yakuza.

The plan was settled mostly in Takatori's voice. Bevan and most of his men would hit the yakuza when seller and buyer met. Schuldig would take a squad to catch the truck which was going to drive the drugs off. "There'll be at least two armoured cars with them," Nicol warned. "Can you take them?"

Schuldig sneered.

Right at the end of the council, Crawford gave Ran the easy job. "The ship which brought the drugs is a tramp steamer. Her sailors are old hands at this. They won't be expecting trouble. But they will have to be disposed of. Even if they are unarmed. I'll give you a couple of charges, which should destroy the ship pretty well."

Takatori and his three guests were ready to leave. Schuldig and Ran went ahead. Crawford stayed behind with Silvia long enough to check there was nothing left behind but the body, and Takatori's staff would take care of that.

In the dining room doorway, he nodded to Silvia.

As they stepped through the door, the five ton girder, which had been settling against the fragile glass window, was pulled through it by gravity. It crashed into the centre of the luxurious room, destroying it as effectively as a bomb.

* * *

The ship was moored against a quay which was slippery with junk and algae. It was dark under the thin new moon, but Ran figured both ship and quay looked their best like that.

His black trench coat making him one shadow in darkness, Ran scouted along the quay. Everything seemed completely deserted. Ran liked the idea of not having to kill, but figured there was a catch to it.

Without bothering about the ladder, he dropped down onto the deck. There were many bad, old smells. All Ran noticed was the bad, new ones of blood and fresh corpses. He drew his sword. It was the brightest thing in the dark scene.

The crew had been caught at their posts. Most seem to have been killed before they noticed. All had been killed with a sword.

At the prow of the ship, a shadow became a man. Dressed in a black trench coat much like his own, he had long, black hair and eyes dark as death. Taller than Aya, but walking with the same swordsman's grace. The sword he was carrying, in contrast to Aya's, was dripping red.

He saluted Aya with that sword. Aya returned the salute and their blades struck together.

Aya was a good swordsman. He was good enough to know immediately this man was much better.

They moved together, better than with any teacher he'd ever had, and Ran knew it was all the dark man's doing. For a moment he wondered if this would end in the flurry of blades, and they would walk out of the sword circle friends. The dark man seemed to pick up something of this. He said, "I will kill you." He spoke with a deep, rich voice. It was flat. Ran thought it business like.

He nodded. It was acceptance. The man could kill him at any time. Their blades moved faster and with more subtlety than he'd ever managed before. They were almost dancing. The red sword cut his steel lined trench coat from him as if it was gauze. Ran began thinking it was some shikigami or his own shadow he faced. It seemed to him he was being given the best of deaths. He waited for the clean sweep of execution. The red sword flashed like lightning at his breast.

Ran staggered. Still breathing. His right arm blazed pain.

The stranger smiled.

Not a shadow or an angel, or even some master samurai. Just another murderer.

Ran snatched his falling sword up with his left hand, walled off the pain, and settled down to making the man work for his kill.

The next stroke he managed to deflect at the last moment, but his weaker blade broke in his hand. He'd no time to worry about soul symbolism. He held the hilt and waited for a chance to throw it.

Then the dark blade was lancing towards his body, too quick and unexpected to stop. Ran parried it with the hilt, delaying the inevitable one useless second.

There was a shot.

It took Ran a moment to realise he was alive.

The point of the sword, still an instant from his skin, fell back. The dark man fell into a heap, making one shadow among many.

Silvia looked down at him from the quay.

"Thanks," he said gruffly. He hoped he concealed his surprise.

Silvia shrugged. "Brad said you'd need a lift home. Your car is untraceable, I hope?"

Managing a makeshift tourquinet on his arm, Ran didn't dignify this with an answer. Still concentrating on controlling his pain, he laid the charges. He picked up the pieces of his trench coat from the deck, and folded them at the dead swordsman's feet. He picked up the stranger's sword. After a moment's hesitation, he shook off the blood, and sheathed it in his own scabbard. Crawford would expect him to re-arm himself as quickly as possible. And it was too good to end in the bottom of the harbour.

It was the finest sword he'd ever seen. In the dim light, he felt rather than saw a flower engraved on the hilt. Ran thought it might be an aster, but he was no expert on flowers. He resolved to ask the next Weiss he met.

Normally he wouldn't have bothered to use the ladder up to the pier. Now, every rung was a struggle. When he'd climbed up onto the quay, he saw she still had her gun out.

She looked at him, and said in a calm, conversational tone, "Schuldig wanted to drop everything, and come rushing to your rescue. Crawford said he was needed with Nicol. He said I wasn't. You don't even like Schuldig, and he cares for you."

Ran wondered if he might have been safer with the swordsman. Almost certainly anything he said would be wrong, but keeping quiet was dangerous, too. "He cares for the use of me."

"I'd settle for that."

"You wouldn't want that."

Some note in his level voice almost caught Silvia's attention. She blinked at him for a second. Then her own grief distracted her. "Well, I love Crawford, and I would. And you get it and you're only - " Ran braced himself for one of the names Takatori's staff used, but Silvia used one she thought worse " - a mundane."

The ship went off like a fire cracker. The oil polluted water around it caught fire.

The unknown swordsman's death ship lit the scene like an opera. Silvia looked suitably tragic, a doomed figure in the glaring light. She ignored the sparks and flakes of burning metal flying past them.

Ran looked down at the pretty little face, and his eyes softened briefly. He said, "Pull yourself together. You can live your own life."

Silvia gasped in outrage. "Don't speak to me as if I was your little sister! I'm a Talent of the top rank! One of Esset's elect! After the Summonin,g I'll have power you miserable mundanes can't even imagine! And you can get home by yourself!"

She swept off to a final volley from the ship's fuel tanks. Ran set about securing his tourquinet.


	16. Hirai

Birman missed the flowers.

When Weiss had got out of Tokyo half a step ahead of Takatori's Special Forces, Kritiker's impulse had been to set them up in another flower shop. Botan had pointed out that was no longer the most discreet cover. And since he was a qualified architect...

The struggling new architectural firm had hired the back of one floor in a low rent district on the outskirts of Kyoto. It would probably fail within the year. Meanwhile, it made an excellent cover.

Birman paused in the waiting room to admire Botan's exhibition piece. A skyscraper so tall, so elegant, Takatori would have commissioned it immediately. Hmm. Perhaps...

"Takaoka-san!"

Birman followed Bombay into a room remarkably like the flower shop's underworld.

The four folders she produced were the slimmest yet. In fact, they contained one photo and no information. Bombay already had the information. She said, "Persia has decided it is time to make Reiji Takatori a target."

Yohji said, "About time, too!" Asuka and Botan seemed to agree. Birman's eyes were on Bombay. He'd been born Mamoru Takatori, after all.

Bombay's eyes assessed her back. "I had the impression, on leaving Tokyo, that Takatori was too strongly defended a target for Weiss."

"For Weiss alone. We have a new ally. The yakuza."

Asuka said, "The people whose friends and family it is our job to kill."

Birman had prepared for a hard sell. "From the yakuza point of view we're the lesser of two evils. Takatori's government is taking or destroying all their assets, even the legal ones. If they can use us to survive they will. Takatori wants to destroy us, as well.

"Don't think Takatori a lesser evil than the yakuza, either. You've seen how he goes after you. He goes after others the same way, including civilians. The news is censored, and his martial law is light in Kyoto – so far - but Tokyo's streets look...sad. Scared. Under Takatori Japan will - " she stopped and looked suddenly at Bombay, who was smiling at her, almost – indulgently? When did little Omi grow up? She looked at her ex-partner. He was still a passionate and self-willed man, but Weiss' axeman was not the same as Galen's lone wolf.

Yohji said, "I've heard Persia had arrangements for this sort of thing."

"That's for the real Persia to decide. If he decides it's time for a counter-coup, he will tell us so. Kurasama-san doesn't have the authority."

Asuka said, "Better than yakuza knifemen at our backs."

Omi said gravely, "If Birman and Persia want us to work with the yakuza, we're ready."

Yohji said, "It's Schwarz I'm worried about. They've played with us a couple of times. If they stop playing...we're going to need all the help we can get."

"That's one thing you don't have to worry about. The US Army and Schwarz clashed. Takatori backed the Americans, and fired Schwarz."

Asuka pointed out, "It might be a set up."

"It might."

Botan was more optimistic. "Then Takatori's running his affairs without Crawford's advice?" Even Asuka looked hopeful.

"Yes, but. Do you remember Rinzo Kinugawa?"

Yohji grinned. "Not likely to forget him." It was, after all, pretty well unique for the police to arrest the target before Weiss could get him.

Apparently Kinugawa had tried to set up some elaborate alibi leaving a number of law students in his office while he was out. They were job applicants, and he'd bet, quite rightly, on none wanting to disturb his privacy. One of them, however, wanted a job with the Police Department. When he'd realised he didn't have much hope with Kinugawa anyway, he knocked at the inner door to explain and excuse himself, opened it to find himself alone in the notorious defender's papers, and succumbed to temptation. Of course, the most damaging material was locked away, but there was enough left for the police to be waiting with a warrant at his home that evening.

Despite all the evidence, and the prosecution's hard work, Kinugawa had received a remarkably light sentence. Asuka said, "I did wonder he bothered to escape."

Birman said, "He believes Crawford would have arranged for him to be killed in prison. Anyway, he's more or less taken over Crawford's position."

"It could still be a set up," warned Asuka.

Yohji patted her shoulder. "We'll bear it in mind. But we have to go with the flow."

Botan walked Birman out. Or perhaps Angelica. Galen team had never needed the closeness of Weiss, but they'd been the nearest either had to a friend. He asked wistfully, "Still no news of Azumi?" At her headshake, "You know, Kyouko, knowing anything would be better than this."

"I would be tempted not to tell you if we'd found bad news, but if Persia ever found anything out, he didn't let me know. I promise you, when he comes back from whatever refuge Shion's hidden him in, I'll ask him first thing."

Botan went back to help the rest of Weiss pack.

* * *

With bitter thoughts of his beloved Seven in store, Yohji arranged a car rental, and drove it to the building's garage. Botan did most of the carrying heavy stuff to the car, Yohji the packing in the boot, while Asuka did the keeping of immediate necessities from being packed in with the rest. Omi was doing his own version of packing up. He not only had to be careful to protect the computer stuff he was taking, but properly wipe or destroy what he wasn't.

Of course, Botan was the first to notice he was in the doorway, watching them. He straightened. "Bad news?"

"It might be good news." Omi shook his head, then smoothed his new, grown up hair do. He held up a floppy disc. "This came in on my e-mail at the very last moment. On a secured link to Kritiker. There's a reservation for us at the Golden Bamboo Restaurant, noon today."

Botan said, "I think Omi should stay outside as backup."

Yohji frowned. The team worked well enough, but it was of two pairs, and occasionally he could feel the stress line. Botan would want Omi out of danger, whether it was better for the mission or not.

Omi said, "We're all going."

Yohji said, "In that cheap rental? I could pick up a good car real cheap."

Botan said dryly, "You'll have to pack it yourself, then. Asuka and I are withdrawing labour."

Omi ordered in the politest way possible, "Shall we go now?"

Yohji had driven a couple of streets away from the office when Omi said, "Pull up behind that big computer store. There's some things I need. I'm afraid I'm going to need everyone to carry something."

Yohji pulled up, saying, "I did put in that gym work, you know."

Omi led the way into the store and smiled at the sales clerk. "Nihira-san, may I demonstrate that new bug finder to my colleagues? You've no idea how competitive the architectural business can get, and it may prove useful."

"Of course, of course." Nihira bowed to them all and ushered them to the back. Here he brought forth three pieces of equipment. All looked as if they'd been produced to use as props in a Hollywood science fiction movie.

Omi said, "Yohji-kun, Nihira-san's heard all the jokes."

Nihira looked at him gratefully. Picking up the first piece, "I can supply you with translations of the English instructions. Though Japan normally leads the world in electronics, in this particular field the United States..."

Somehow in the demonstration all four Weiss were scanned from head to foot. Nothing was found.

Back at the car, while the other Weiss stayed back, Omi scanned their luggage thoroughly with his fancy new vacuum cleaner. Twice it flashed red.

Yohji had taken over the carpark's customer bench, leaving just enough room for Asuka if she squeezed in. "So, Omittchi, which Golden Bamboo are we talking about?"

"The address is here." Omi handed him the sales receipt. "We've quite a bit of the morning to fill in. If Ken was here, we could go and watch him teach soccer. A public park's still a good place to fill in time."

"Sure!" said Botan heartily. "Might as well walk." Yohji bet Botan had never been the one Galen picked when acting was needed.

Once they'd reached the next street, Asuka was the one who asked, "So what do we do about whoever's snooping on us?"

Omi said, "Keep them happy as long as possible, but that's not the first priority. That e-mail wasn't from Kritiker. It suggested a meeting in this park," he nodded at the gates they were approaching, "this morning. Our contact will be Kazutoshi Hirai."

Botan asked thoughtfully, "That's Kazutoshi Hirai, the head of the Kyoto District yakuza?"

Yohji said, "I'm inclined to agree with Asuka about this one. Even if it's not the obvious trap, we're meant to be on the road to Tokyo by then."

Omi smiled, not very happily. "The meeting is to discuss Takatori's imminent arrival in Kyoto." That startled them all. When a man's just seized power, he doesn't leave the capital city for a tour of historic shrines. Botan made a 'come on' gesture with his hand. Omi went on, "The e-mail claims Takatori is having an urgent confab with his American backers, who weren't expecting a naked military putsch. So, we're gambling on the yakuza a bit earlier than we thought we would, but nothing's much changed."

They walked casually enough. It would have been hard to see how their eyes never missed a car or fellow pedestrian. Through the park gates the men unbuttoned their jackets, making sure the hang of the material didn't show their weapons, or slow access. Passing by some children, it was Yohji who voiced the common feeling. "I miss Ken."

Yohji saw Botan's gaze focus. He'd recognised Hirai. The yakuza chief looked almost as young as Omi.

Omi led the way to the meeting. Apart from Hirai, there was six large and muscular men, obviously armed, but they stood well back as Weiss approached. Dressed in their sombre, almost labelled, black suits they made quite a picture against a grove of maples, where the foliage was beginning to turn to autumn colours.

Yohji was rather reluctant to bow to a yakuza chief, but Omi showed no hesitation. "Hirai-san."

Hirai bowed back respectfully. Even at his most tired and bitter, Omi hadn't eyes like that. "Bombay-sama. Just to clear things between us – Weiss killed my father."

Omi didn't twitch a muscle. The other three Weiss tensed.

Showing the faintest sign of amusement, Hirai said, "He was about to get the yakuza into a messy dispute with the police. He would have lost, and died anyway. And he would have taken my mother, and younger siblings, and faithful family retainers with him. Probably me, too, though I'd been sent out of Tokyo to Kyoto to recruit more men. Weiss kept the bloodshed to a minimum, including yakuza blood." He held out his hand. "I would be glad to shake your hand."

Omi shook it.

Hirai asked, "May I introduce our friends?" The men came up. Omi had files on most of them, and they were the type Weiss had no hesitation in killing on the way to the named target. Yohji found himself exchanging bows with men who, yesterday, he would have garrotted on sight.

Omi said, "I think neither of us will regret this alliance. We found our computers were bugged. Our office, too, probably. They didn't happen to be yours?"

Hirai shook his head. "Whatever my personal feelings, if my subordinates had found you, I doubt they'd have been content with a few bugs."

"May we borrow your computers?"

"Any I have. But I warn you, we've found a few bugs in our own systems. And there can always be long distance microphones."

Asuka glanced at the sun. "If we mean to hide the fact we've found the bugs, we'd better not spend too much longer here."

Omi said, "I think they'll expect us to find them some time. It would be more hindrance than help to keep hanging around them. Unless, sirs, you have an idea?"

Hirai shook his head. "The further away we are from them the better. Perhaps the gentlemen of Weiss would care to have lunch at my home?"

Yohji choked down a laugh. "Sorry, something caught in my throat."

Asuka poked his back with an index finger. He grinned down at her, and slung his arm around her shoulders. Following Omi and Botan, he smiled at the nearest yakuza, a man he knew had killed almost as many people as he had. "So, are we going to have a nice scenic tour of Kyoto after lunch? Which shrine do you think the most holy and beautiful?"

The yakuza said, "I'm Zen."

Yohji grinned. "I know someone back in Tokyo you'll get along with just fine."

Hirai said, "We'll be delighted to show you round."

Omi managed to disclaim interest in tourism while complimenting Kyoto. Sometimes Yohji wondered why Shuichi had bothered to train Omi in weapons at all. Omi could just about talk anyone into anything.

Hirai's family home was palatial. Yohji wondered if Omi felt a pang knowing he should have been brought up in these sort of surroundings. But that wasn't Omi, was it? It was Mamoru. It was confusing enough to Yohji. He wondered how Omi felt about it.

Hirai, who no doubt knew their names, real or otherwise, was polite enough to stick to the codenames. He even called Botan Korat, which was more than Birman usually remembered to do.

After the diners had appreciated the food, they put down their chopsticks and picked up pen and paper.

It was a bizarre council of war. Those taking part would write down all information and suggestions, but on offering them would express the emotions they would have used in conversation. Yohji found himself sharing headshakes and eyerolls with yakuza. There were occasional disjointed phrases.

The lower echelon yakuza got a lot more to eat.

Omi said nothing, and showed little emotion, busy shoving scraps of paper around on the table in front of him. His fish course had been shoved to one side, and he'd waved away the later. Finally he said, "Well, I know Kritiker has the right sort of van. They were going to move us into it."

Botan said, "I can go and pick it up." He was very obviously trying not to look distrustfully at the yakuza.

Hirai said delicately, "And the other equipment?"

Omi said, "If we don't have to wait for Kritiker to supply us, it will help."

Asuka said, "Timing?"

Omi nodded to Botan, who said, "I'll go now."

The half hour they waited for Botan, Hirai and Omi spent on determinedly civilised conversation. Yohji was a bit disconcerted to find the drug maven, Kosaka, knew quite a lot about film noir and had opinions worth hearing.

Finally a kimonoed maid appeared in the doorway. Bowing, she said, "Korat-san is here, Hirai-san." From her tone, Korat was the Lord High Somebody, and had arrived in a Rolls.

Far from it. The van was at least second hand, and that hand hadn't treated it well. Omi shook his head in disgust. "They wanted us to live in that."

Asuka wondered, "What _is _it with Kritiker and pink?"

Botan shrugged, "I think it was Persia's favourite colour."

Yohji said, "No, it was cheap. Do we start this afternoon?"

Omi shook his head. "Better have the van clearly painted. 'Somebody or other's finest oden?'

"Oden?" asked one of the younger yakuza deferentially. "Isn't it a bit early?" Fish broth is definitely a winter food.

Omi smiled at him. "We don't want to attract customers."

Hirai said, "Nonetheless, you probably will get a few. My cook does excellent oden..."

The cook acted as if it was a treat to be dragged from the middle of preparing dinner for an unexpected herd of guests, to explain the basics of oden preparation and serving to her household's enemies. She concentrated on teaching Asuka. Normally Asuka didn't allow this, but must have figured the cook had enough to deal with already.

The painters turned up while this was going on. Hirai smiled at Omi. "Not pink?"

"Anything but pink." Looking at the display, rather reluctantly, "Perhaps a rather dull colour would be best."

Yohji was concentrating on road maps. "I think I ought to drive," said Botan.

Yohji clicked his tongue, "You guys act as if I crashed every week."

Kosaka assured Botan, "This old mutt won't show a few extra knocks."

Hirai was telling Omi, "...support cultural activities in Kyoto. Some time your ikkou must be our guests..."

The painter took just long enough from shouting unneeded orders at his crew to ask, "Hey, boss, what name shall we put?"

Hirai looked quizzically at Omi. Possibly to avert the cat jokes looming, Omi said, "Fish on Wheels."

* * *

Nursing his third cup of coffee, Yohji listened to Bombay of Weiss and Hirai of the yakuza discussing noh. Asuka had been dragged off to arrange the van's uniforms, and he was glad to miss that.

Botan said, "We better drive off bright and early."

Yohji closed his eyes, in order to concentrate on scowling.

Botan went on thoughtfully, "Yes, the road getting there will be kind of narrow for a van. You'll have to concentrate. And bumpy. And don't forget the way it weaves from side to side - "

Yohji snapped, "Okay! You can drive! This morning, anyway."

Botan sensibly refrained from saying anything further. Yohji could be a sore loser. But as he turned to eating a large, fried breakfast instead, Yohji didn't gain much from this.

A nicely dull green van set off eventually. Its route was around the US Army base.

If anyone with no previous assumptions had been watching, they might have decided it was best to steer well clear of whatever the van was peddling. The staff seemed to need an awful lot of pit stops. It is true these stops were generally near some surveillance equipment, but as surveillance equipment was thick all around the base, that wasn't statistically significant.

Weiss learned the US Army allowed very little cover to grow up around their high, chain link fences. Some concrete manufacturer must have made a fortune.

Lunch was a light affair. The cook had packed them a salad, and they ate no fish at all.

Soon afterwards, a dark helicopter flew over them. It hovered directly overhead for a moment. Botan scowled upward, his grip on the sauce ladle shifting. Yohji found himself weighing up the merits of skinning knife and skewer. It just needed one metal object in those vanes...

"Botan!" said Omi sharply, and returned to persuading a few school truants he didn't have ice cream hidden under the counter.

The end of the afternoon found Yohji driving along the loneliest stretch of their circle. Between the road and the camp was the same concrete, but well grown bush lined the other side of the road. A dark limousine pulling in across the windscreen. He tapped the brakes softly, having learned by now Kritiker really had cut costs on this vehicle.

Hirai emerged from the front seat, adjusting his jacket. All four Weiss got out of the van and walked over to him. The yakuza asked, "Any luck?".

"I'm afraid, Hirai-san, our venture is so far fruitless."

Hirai shrugged. "Well, I guess it's time to cut our losses then." He ducked under the car.

A line of dark suited men carrying submachine guns stepped out of the bush and began firing.

As he ran toward the fence, Yohji only hoped Hirai's boasts about his men's marksmanship was accurate. And their reliability. It needed only one man to remember a dead friend or relative...

The bullets tore up the fence, and took out the immediate electronic equipment, but there was still a high barrier of concrete and tangled steel to get over. Yohji used his wire as a grapelle over a concrete pillar, for himself and Asuka. Botan hit the fence's steel, one blow with his axe at the strained links and they almost exploded apart.

One running pace on the higher concrete inside, two steps, and soldiers were there, facing them. Their weapons were larger and more numerous than the yakuza's.

The machine guns' muzzles, lifted, aimed.

Omi went down.

* * *

Omi had spent some time worrying over whether they should make this a night action. He was sure Weiss had more experience there, but the soldiers would have the advantage of familiar ground. At last he'd decided Weiss couldn't afford to wait until dark, anyway. Which didn't mean he hadn't made the break in as late as possible. Weiss was on flat, clear open ground, but the long shadows of late afternoon barred the killing field. Omi had gambled a lot on long, black shadows. The soldiers were already closer than they should have been.

But not nearly as much as he had on the troop's using heavy calibre. Weiss dived to the ground. For a second the soldiers' grips shifted on their weapons. As they were looking at Weiss, they didn't see the yakuza's really heavy guns. To Weiss it sounded like one clap of thunder. The soldiers were blown apart.

They'd got off some shots, of course. All of Weiss were hit and bleeding. But they'd been shot before. All could stand when the firing stopped..

Omi was first to grab the nearest machine gun and start running forward again, but only by a second.

Very faintly through the ringing in his ears, he heard Hirai shouting, "Are Weiss the only samurai here?" and the yakuza yell as they charged after them.

Weiss headed straight for the airfield, but didn't get the last lucky break. They didn't catch Takatori either trying to get to his helicopter or just lifting off. The field was an abandoned playground with giant toys. The Takatori helicopter looked almost small and dainty sitting beside the big military models.

Omi jumped in and looked around. For the most part the helicopter showed the military touch and had been swept clean of incriminating evidence. But there was a photo lying on the carpet. From the large dirty footprint over it, it had been kicked under the seat. Omi picked it up and saw it was a family picture. Parents, two sons, a baby. Everyone looked happy.

Well, it might be. If not, Mamoru had something much like it.

Omi let it drop, and jumped out to find Asuka and Hirai disputing over the fate of the military helicopters. Asuka wanted to sabotage them, to stop Takatori escaping. Hirai wanted to keep them to sell later. Both looked at him to decide. A few days ago he'd never have thought a yakuza would be asking for his advice. He'd have bet on it.

Omi suggested, "Have a couple of men keep an eye on the helicopters." He nodded at the nearest, "Sitting there, they could monitor the radio at the same time."

Hirai nodded, and assigned a couple of his more middle-aged henchmen. The airfield was right at the north edge of the field, and a cold evening wind was coming from the sea. They looked glad to sit down in the warm cockpit, stretch their legs, and fiddle with the radio.

Asuka shrugged, and joined the rest of Weiss, and their yakuza helpers, in scouting the military camp. They were trying to figure out which of the posts holding out was the one with Takatori. And Powell and Nicol, as Hirai was quick to remind them. To Weiss, of far less importance.

Yohji had complained about Persia not issuing Weiss with guns, but Omi noticed he was as quick as the rest of Weiss to discard his and return to his silent weapon.

Omi kept a careful eye on the time. He and Hirai had tried to work out how long the response from the next army would be, but he knew very well a number of things could happen to make it a lot shorter. The sudden, heavy firing from the southern fence was uncomfortably late in arriving.

A very young, very excited yakuza rushed up to him. He almost saluted, catching himself at the last minute. "Hirai-san says the breakout party has reached the outer fence. Should we - ?"

There was an explosion from the north. He jumped.

Omi said, "I don't think so. The breakout party is probably harmless if left alone." He ran to the airfield.

Against the night sky some of Hirai's handsome new helicopters made a fine bonfire. Even a stretch of the chain link fence was glowing all the colours of embers. The two yakuza who'd been on watch looked a bit greasy, but otherwise unharmed. They were telling Hirai, "...We lay on the carpet when they started the chopper."

Omi said, "Who did the trap kill?"

One of the thugs said, "Bombay-san, there was Takatori, three uniforms, Powell and Nicol." A little reluctantly, "Two civilian secretaries."

Omi looked at him sympathetically. Perhaps the yakuza was less hardened to killing civilian bystanders than Weiss. "And the photos?"

Hirai handed Omi his copy. "Nicol came out quite clearly in a couple." He seemed pleased by the photos.

Omi thought the pictures of the elected Prime Minister of Japan and a streategically important US general sneaking around with a notorious Mafioso more depressing. Still, maybe useful, he admitted.

Botan touched his elbow. Omi followed his gaze and saw the same dark clad yakuzas whose volley had opened the action. They were filing along the burning fence.

Hirai spoke slowly and deliberately. Deliberately slowly. "Sorry it has to end this way. But after all, you did kill my father."

By that time, of course, Weiss were in the shadows.

Omi said clearly, "Weiss, Hirai is not a target." Botan frowned. He didn't take his eyes off Hirai.

Omi watched him sadly. He loved Botan, but he couldn't undo the dead wife, the fear and tearing hope for the lost daughter. It must be so tempting for Botan to rush out to end it all on yakuza guns.

Then Botan looked at Omi, his face brightening, as if he was waking from a bad dream. He put away his axe, and turned away from the open, firelit killing ground.

* * *

The radio's sharp tones said:..._regret to announce the sudden, accidental death of Prime Minister Takatori..._

"Thank you, Mother, Yuushi-niisan. But Ouka is my friend. I'll be the one to tell her."

* * *

..._at a pacifist demonstration at a US Army base. Drugged and violent elements..._

"That'll be you, Asuka – oof!"

"Don't attack Yohji-kun until he's put down the bird-of-paradise plants, Asuka-chan. They're important for the Koneko's reopening."

* * *

..._several of Takatori's servants comitted suicide to give the controversial Takatori a death following. Their names are Rinzo Kinugawa..._

"That reminds me, this trigger's action's getting a bit spongy. Take it in to be fixed, Fujimiya."

* * *

..._As a gesture of support to Japan's guests, the US Army, the celebrated philanthropist Kazutoshi Hirai will resupply the damaged equipment at cost..._


	17. Mr and Mrs Phelan

Crawford stood at a penthouse suite of an expensive hotel, overlooking the dazzling lights of Tokyo. Autumn frosts were sharpening and brightening the air.

He turned and smiled at Silvia. "Nakatsugawa's got most of Kritiker. Now it's Esset's. It's so close now. Everything we could want. Things we never thought of wanting."

"Everything?" she asked hopefully.

He nodded toward a small table, set like the cover of a romance novel. Down to an oversize bouquet of red roses, and a bottle of champagne. He ushered her into a chair, opened the bottle efficiently. It was so romantic. Silvia wished she wasn't quite so aware of those fast, heavy hands. Just a little pressure, a little coaxing, and it snapped open. The cork was thrown away.

He lifted his glass. "Here's to us," he said. "Forever."

* * *

Steel lined ceiling, walls, and floor, reinforced doors with combination locks. Rosenkreuz' underground rooms made very effective cells even without the jailer.

The nameless jailer, a minor talent, had been listening to the radio, and switched it off reluctantly. He stared at Sally Phelan avidly, but it was her guard he addressed. "Okay, Berger, Crawford got Kinugawa before Kinugawa got him. Pay up."

Berger was a man big enough to handle the small Sally physically, and his green dyed hair showed membership in Rosenkreuz' self proclaimed elite, the telepaths. He handed over a few tokens. They were cheap looking, but Sally knew they represented unlimited power over weaker human beings.

Only then did the jailer open the door to Farfarello's room.

Sally caught her mental slip fiercely, and glared at Berger, who'd caught it, too. It was Jei who was waiting for her inside. Not a monster, but the man she loved. The man who'd stood up to Esset with her, and exchanged vows, while Farblos was still spluttering threats. Her husband.

Still, she looked anxiously into the face of the man facing her. It was sane and human. But the shadow was never far away, and she thought maybe it had grown a bit stronger.

He walked up to her and held her, hiding his face in her hair. She could almost feel Farfarello through his skin. Now the madness loosened its grasp. "Sally, don't do this!"

Her voice was still a bit hoarse. She'd had a full fit of screaming hysterics when Esset had first told her what they wanted. "I managed to get them to agree to use artificial insemination."

He shuddered. Or perhaps it was her. "That's not the main point. As your husband, I'm ordering you to - "

She said quickly, "Don't! I won't obey. It'll just add an argument between us. I agree I'm going to do something horrible. I almost want Berger to..." take away her self and will. Make her just a flesh android for Esset's use.

Which would leave Esset free to turn Jei back into Farfarello, their weapon.

Berger sneered and looked at his watch. "Okay, you've seen your pet freak's as okay as he gets. We've a plane to catch."

After a final kiss, Sally stood back. If Berger used force, Farfarello would rouse. To her husband, "I know you have the harder part." Weeks in this blind little cell, with nothing to do but fight madness. "I trust you."

Berger's sneer slid into a scowl. Sally's Christian charity rather failed at Berger. Nonetheless, as she followed him meekly out of Rosenkreuz steel walls into autumn, she could understand his annoyance. He was considered Rosenkreuz' top telepath. Yet he was kept in Rosenkreuz, a flunky for the Elders, while others were sent out to command teams, if not armies. And now, when he was allowed out, it was as a guard.

Sally thought his appointment to guard her might have been a sign of favour from the Elders. She strongly suspected that for all their age and arcane knowledge, when it came to interpersonal relationships, the Elders sucked.

The little airport nearest Rosenkreuz was dominated by its presence. Only a few international flights stopped over. Both their passengers and crew always found something felt wrong in that little field. They were apt to blame it on the weather, or think the high mountains around stifling. As long as it kept them herded close together, and eager to leave, the broadcasting telepaths didn't care.

Sally had somehow thought it would be just her and Berger flying to Japan. It wasn't an enjoyable prospect, but she wasn't please to see Berger's little friend, Layla, waiting for them. Simple mindedness was one thing, but the little, telekinetic redhead was plain creepy. She giggled at them, as usual sounding just a hair off key. "Japan!"

Sally looked at Berger with surprise. "You don't think you can take care of me yourself?"

His scowl had never quite gone away. "Layla will help. I might get distracted. I want to be able to do some scanning without my attention on you."

Layla said, "Anyway, I'm not going only as a guard. I'm going for the same reason you are."

They were boarding now. With Jei's life and sanity at stake, Sally was as eager to avoid attention as they were. Not until they were snugly ensconced in first class did she ask, "Are you going to be Esset's second string, then?"

"No. I'm going to someone else. My kid's going to be a big talent, to serve yours."

Sally wondered whether the change in altitude was stupefying her. "How can they be sure? Talents seem to be a complex trait, not carried on one or two genes."

Layla's untroubled expression barely flickered. "Something about – genetic homogeneity."

Sally's skin crawled. Because she came from a mountain village, Rosenkreuz people were prone to think her ignorant. But for her first thirteen years, she'd had Italy's standard state schooling, and done well. She knew what 'genetic homogneity' meant. Layla was talking about incest.

Sally said carefully, "You do realise such a child is likely to be unhealthy, and perhaps retarded?"

Berger returned his attention from the passengers near their seats. "We're after a strong talent, and that's the way to get one."

Sally looked at Layla. Normally, Layla's expression was that of a nasty child. Now she looked rather older, and even nastier.

Sally turned to the in-flight movie.

It was in Japanese. This had seemed a good way to help Berger's implant of the Japanese language take hold. Unfortunately, it was an art film. Its makers would have called it existential, if they'd thought it worth while to learn the word. It depressed Sally immensely.

Narita Airport was full of people who looked exactly like the ones in the film. Sally had never quite realised there were that many people in the world. As they flooded around her, she found herself shrinking closer to Layla. When she swerved away again, she bumped into a neat Japanese businesswoman, who snarled elegantly at her.

Berger hauled her back into line. His fingers dug painfully into her left arm. He nodded over part of the seething mass. "That's where our car will be waiting." His tone implied, 'had better be waiting'.

There was a long line of limousines waiting, and crowds of people heading for them. Layla made a small, unobtrusive telekentic shield around herself, but Sally was outside it,being jostled and trod upon.

Sally blindly pressed after Berger. Just as she felt she was about to be suffocated by human flesh, a hand grasped her right arm. It was as strong as Berger's grip, but didn't hurt. A deep man's voice. "Mrs Phelan?"

Sally blinked and stared into a pair of grey-violet eyes. Those, and the red hair, couldn't be natural, could it?

With formal manners, the young man settled her into the back of a plush limousine. Sally noticed Layla bristle. She'd consider a top rank telekinetic count more than a healer.

Once both women were in the back seat, the redheaded man turned to Berger. "Berger-san, I'm here on behalf of Schwarz to take you to a comfortable safe house. If you want to spend any time seeing Tokyo, Schwarz has opened a bank account for you." He offered a gold card.

Berger refused it. "I have a platinum card of my own. And we rate more than a mundane."

The young man bowed. "Normally all of Schwarz would have come to meet you, but Crawford was out of town. This means extra work for Schuldig and Lin."

"Fujimiya, isn't it? Crawford's chosen a bad time for a holiday."

"He is on the business of the One." Berger looked at him for a moment. His frown grew worse. Fujimiya said, "Schuldig's taught me to shield. There are some things to be kept even from you." Berger sulked all the drive to the safe house.

Sally could deduce he'd been looking forward to rubbing Crawford's nose in his failure. Underlings weren't quite the same. A mundane one least of all.

However, Schuldig and Lin were better than nothing. Especially, Schuldig. Esset's training methods being what they were, there would be history between Berger and Schuldig, and not good history.

The six Esset agents arranged themselves around the table of a disappointingly Westernised dining room. Berger took the head of the table. Schwarz had put chairs for Sally and Layla on the opposite side to themselves. Layla's chair lifted over the table and set itself beside Schuldig. Close beside.

Berger said, "We are here to discuss the Vessel."

Schuldig reassured him, "The Vessel is secure, and in the best of health."

Berger shook his head. "Someone so retarded? He's spent most of his life in low price institutions until he was used as a doll for some sadist's little games. However well Schwarz has treated him, he won't be in the best of health. And he's soiled. Schwarz has failed in its assignment. The obvious host, the one Esset expects, is an unborn child."

Schuldig sneered. "And you think the One's going to like that?"

"I think the One expects us to provide the best host we can. Physically and genetically."

"One of Tsuji's little clones?"

Berger nodded at Sally. "This woman is a homozygous carrier of loci for aggravating somatic expression of the Kramer-Crowley allele." He was looking at Schuldig.

Schuldig looked at Fujimiya, of all people. Possibly because he didn't want to hear Berger explain it to everyone in that patronising tone, Fujimiya answered him aloud. "If that isn't the nonsense it certainly sounds, it means she carries a gene to enhance any Talent."

Silvia said suddenly, "But it's really dangerous for the mother."

Berger shrugged. "There's a chance. She and her husband don't have any chance otherwise."

Layla relaxed her grasp of Schuldig's arm enough to say, "Besides, what an honour! To be mother of the One!"

Lin touched her own belly, and shuddered. To Sally, "How far are you gone?"

Berger said, "That's why we want Crawford. The child must have the best genetic inheritance, and if you knew Sally's husband...The worst!"

Schuldig managed to choke down his laughter. Rosenkreuz pupils learn early, its high brass don't appreciate people laughing in their face. "You mean you want Crawford for his - " Lin and Fujimiya gave him identical looks. "Okay." To Sally, "Sorry. But Crawford?"

"Clairvoyance is the one human talent the One might not naturally possess. Besides, Crawford must have good genes in other ways. Before him, there was a rule about strong clairvoyance. The man broke the talent or the talent broke the man."

Sally reminded him, yet again, "Esset have agreed to artificial insemination."

Layla said, "_I_ wouldn't want artificial insemination. Creepy!"

Trying to disengage her from his arm, then his shoulder, then his neck, Schuldig said, "Keep it for your memoirs. Why should I care?"

"We're going to have a baby. Esset says so."

"Hold on. Why us - " suddenly he recoiled out of his chair to step back a long pace. He looked at Berger. "Oh, no."

Both the other Schwarz seemed to have heard his realisation. Fujimiya got to his feet, and looked at Schuldig. "You can't do this."

Berger said, "He will do this. This sort of sentimental twaddle is for sheep."

Schuldig and Fujimiya looked at each other for a moment. Then the mundane seemed to blank out. He walked out of the room. Schuldig made to follow.

Whatever Berger thought at Schuldig, it dragged his attention back sharply. When Schuldig had sat down again, Berger went on. "But we want the foetus ready for midwinter. So the sooner the better."

Lin frowned. "But the foetus will be only..."

"We think an early foetus will give the One more flexibility to adapt it to its needs."

* * *

Faced with the needs of the One, Crawford had agreed, via his telepathic link with Schuldig, to be at the clinic the next day. In Japan, Esset had none of the private clinics it did in Europe, so Crawford, or perhaps Schuldig, had come up with the idea of using the biggest, busiest clinic in Tokyo.

If Lin altered the hospital computers to bump Sally's insemination to head of the queue, the medical staff would just think they'd forgotten. Berger could always encourage that belief.

Needed by Esset to burn an old library down to the cellars, Geisel had arrived at Tokyo on a slightly later flight. He was sitting on the other side of Sally, in the waiting room, though Berger didn't really think Sally would now panic and run. He wanted an excuse to stop Sally being Sally, and had been trying to make her panic and rebel for some time now. He'd developed a grudging respect for her nerve.

Crawford's message had been he wanted to do this quick, and get back out of Tokyo to – whatever he was doing. More on edge than he would have admitted, Berger kept a telepathic watch out for him. But he was concentrating on the street entrance, if only because of the Kritiker agent on watch. He didn't know whether he was Nakatsugawa's or the holdouts', but he didn't like it in either case.

Thinking of ways to take it out on Crawford, he almost missed the flicker of Crawford's mind deep in the was Crawford, wasn't it?

He stood. Geisel sharpened his watch of Sally as Berger entered the crowded corridor.

Trampled by mundanes, Berger wondered if he should just go on waiting for Crawford. After all, it was Crawford's fault if he didn't turn up, wasn't it?

Berger could just imagine what Esset would say to that excuse.

Anyway, he was almost sure it was Crawford. Over there, wasn't it?

Berger did some trampling of his own.

He searched pretty well the entire hospital. After checking with Geisel, and finding Crawford hadn't arrived, or sent a message, Berger concentrated on tracking down that mind.

He rather thought it was from the intensive care unit. A quick scan of the staff's minds elicited there was no recent admission of anyone at all like gaijin, so he began checking both visitors and the staff itself. Crawford would be at least as well screened as the rest of Schwarz, so that meant doing it physically. For an hour or so, anyone over medium height was apt to find a tall, green-haired gaijin peering into his face. Berger especially checked operating room staff. The mask would be such a good screen.

"Nothing," he sent to Geisel. "Nothing your end?"

No one answered.

Berger sent a quick burst of mental noise to his teammate, the equivalent of a wordless shout. It got no response.

Berger scrambled through the crowd as fast as he could, but it still took a long time to reach the room. It was empty.

Beyond the inner door, the doctor was already busy with his next patient. Berger wouldn't even have to smooth memories from his mind.

For a second Berger thought he must have come to the wrong room. He backed out and checked the Japanese crowding the corridor. He glanced through several of the nearer rooms, knowing he would find nothing.

The first room was the right one. The furniture, the magazines and the paintings were identical. Except one of the couches had been pulled a little away from the wall. He could see the bottom of a man's European style shoe poking out from behind it.

There wasn't a flicker of life.

Behind the couch, Geisel was the only corpse. He was lying on his stomach, a small patch of dark crimson between his shoulder blades. Berger would leave that to the doctor, when he found it. He had no desire to burden himself with a corpse.

He sauntered out the street entrance.

Feeling secure between two empty ambulances, the Kritiker agent didn't even see him coming. There was a mental blur. Then he found himself flat on his back. A man twice his size was standing over him, foot heavy enough on his throat so it took all his strength to breathe. He was staring down at the agent with dead, lilac eyes.

"Has Kritiker got her?"

The agent was determined not to answer, even if the big gaijin had let up the pressure on his throat. Yet all the agent could think of was what he'd seen earlier. A small, blonde woman being escorted from the hospital, by a white haired gaijin, who kept his arm around her all the time.

Berger told himself it was only common sense to crush the agent's throat. He'd seen a fragment of Esset politics Esset wouldn't like known.

That Berger enjoyed it was only incidental.

* * *

Sally kept holding Jei as he escorted her to the back seat of a rented car. He sat down with her andnodded to the driver. "Sally, this is Rudolf. He helped me escape Rosenkreuz."

Sally smiled blindingly at the jailer, whose name she'd never bothered to learn. She opened her mouth to thank him, and found herself beginning to cry.

Slightly appalled, as a man's apt to be when confronted with unexpected tears, Rudolf said, "It's a pleasure, ma'am."

* * *

When he'd taken the mail from the box, Ran couldn't stop himself riffling them for his own name. He told himself he was a grown man. He shouldn't fear seeing his own name on an envelope, even in Schuldig's jaunty handwriting. They'd made a bargain. Ran help Schuldig and Silvia out of their hole, and he could walk out of Schwarz, and stay out. It was something he'd forgotten to hope for.

The talk with Birman had given Ran more hope.

Despite Nakatsugawa, if there was anyone in Japan who'd believe talk of ancient demons, and who could do something about it, it was Kyouko Takaoka. Perhaps prompted by a well-hidden romantic streak, more likely prompted by Queen, she'd even suggested Ran allying with Crashers.

He'd tried to be honest with Yuushi. Though he was gay, he didn't think he'd be ready for anything romantic for a long time, and perhaps forever. Yuushi had smiled at him from his five years' seniority, which was annoying, yet oddly reassuring as well. Yuushi had said he could wait, when it was something worth waiting for. Even now the memory of the words warmed Ran. And of the deep, rich voice they'd been spoken in.

Meanwhile, Ran could help Yuushi's work with the Japan Deaf-Blind Association. The low pay would be enough. Mrs Fujimiya was going to put Aya through St Lukes College of Nursing, so Ran didn't have to worry about that.

Wondering if his mother would be prepared to invest some Fujimiya money in a school for the blind, Ran walked up the stairs to his mother's flat, opening it with his key. Fujimiya style was rather different from Takatori. Mrs Fujimiya lived in a small flat, if a fairly luxurious one. She patronised opera, not golf courses. Her security was not four men in white suits, but unobtrusive top of the line electronics.

Which was no good at all if a telepath could read the codes from the owner's mind.

Ran stared numbly at the scene for a moment. His mother sat in a chair in the middle of her living room. Berger stood behind her. "Good afternoon, Fujimiya." When Ran stepped forward, Berger lay his hand on Sumiko's head. Pain whitened her face, and she braced herself not to show more. "I can kill her with my mind before you take another step." Ran stood very still. "Tell me about Schwarz."

Ran looked into those dead eyes. "I'll tell you anything. You don't need to hurt her."

"Drop your shield first."

Ran hadn't even realised he'd raised it. He dropped it, and braced himself.

It was as effective as bracing himself against a swinging plank. Schuldig might be a stronger telepath, but he'd never entered Ran's mind as brutally. Berger was after memories of Crawford. He ignored the earlier ones. Ran was dragged back to the morning of nine days ago.

He was dressing himself, against Schuldig's ingenious efforts, when the telepath pulled away with a loud and vivid curse. Ran was sleepy enough to wonder if he was the cause, until Schuldig threw on his technicoloured dressing gown, and ran from the bedroom.

Ran found himself following. Somehow his sword was in his hand.

Schuldig banged open the door of Crawford and Silvia's bedroom.

Silvia had donned her best kimono. She was made up as if for a formal dinner party. Face carefully composed, she was sitting, with straight back and folded hands, beside Crawford, who was in bed, arranged like a corpse for viewing. Ran saw his chest move in slow, sleeper's breaths.

Schuldig turned round on Ran, and snarled, "This is your fault!" Silvia looked startled. Schuldig went on, "It was your idea a shot of joyjuice wouldn't trigger a precog's defenses." Ran could barely remember that one, among the many ideas he'd offered Schuldig, in the early days. Had they really bothered to tell Silvia, and she bothered to remember? "If you think I'm going to go along with turning Crawford over to Farblos - "

Suddenly much less composed, Silvia stood up. "I'm not Farblos any longer! They'd be the first to punish me for breaking obedience." Schuldig looked at her. Reading her mind made him shake his head in amazement. Ran knew Rosenkreuz training was to look for plots and double crosses. Ran was less surprised than either of them. Almost as if explaining to herself what she'd done, "I did my best for this team. It's just...He said forever. I couldn't face this forever." She composed herself, "I thought you might take over Schwarz."

"And if I don't?"

"Then Crawford will kill me."

"If all that was at stake was power and immortality, I might. But Crawford promised me freedom. You bitch, we were going to escape Esset!" He advanced on her with murder on his face.

Ran thought he'd never seen his lover naked before. But there was still Silvia's neck to save. He said, "He promised _you_ freedom. He promised Silvia she'd be his respected partner."

They'd been together long enough, Schuldig hardly needed telepathy. "You can't lie to a telepath."

"You want to bet everything on that?"

Berger was so excited by news of Esset's pet oracle plotting defection he skimmed later memories. Schuldig, being _almost_ sure of Crawford, putting him in the best intensive care in the same hospital where Sally had vanished, and for the same reason. It was the largest forest to hide a leaf. Of course, the hospital records were as unCrawfordlike as possible. Schuldig promising Ran, if he'd back up his lies, Ran could walk free of Schwarz. Schuldig, still determined to win free of Esset.

Ran felt Berger's mind bearing heavier on his. Berger was going to shatter his mind.

Sumiko seemed to have decided screaming for help was the only thing she could do. It certainly distracted Berger.

He looked down at this brief nuisance in annoyance. "Then join him, you bitch!"

As soon as Berger's attention flickered, Ran moved. Schuldig had always emphasised a mundane would only get one blow at a psychic, and the edge of Ran's hand hit Berger's neck at just the angle Schwarz had drilled into him.

Pulling Berger's corpse off Sumiko, Ran wondered how they'd rate that kill. Sloppy, he'd guess. Over-emotional.

Sumiko closed her eyes. She would still be dazed from Berger's skilled application of pure pain.

Ran knelt down beside her chair, and held her hands. "The pain will go. The man who did it's dead. He's not hurting you any more." He hesitated. Perhaps it wasn't the time, but he should have said this before. "I know you loved Father, and miss him. But Aya and I need you, too. We're so very glad Takatori didn't get you." Looking at her thoughtful face, "Not just us. You've friends, and employees, and those charities of Yuushi's that you help."

Sumiko squeezed his hands back, then gently pulled free. "You seemed to know this freak."

Ran put sentiment aside. "Well, to start with, it's best not to call them freaks. It's rather a trigger word."

That was all the information she got for a while. Her screams had brought several neighbours, banging on her flat door, shouting anxiously.

They trampled in, staring at Berger as if they'd paid admission, and milled around until the

neighbourhood cop came in. He opened his notebook. "Now, this gaijin broke in and menaced you. Did he give any clue to his identity?"

Sumiko looked at Ran. Ran had worked with a master misleader for a while. He disclaimed, "I can recognise German. But I can't actually speak it."

"Pity." The cop looked around at the rich, respectable Japanese looking to him, and said importantly. "No harm in telling you. This guy is wanted in connection with the murder of another gaijin. He was seen wandering distractedly around a hospital just before he killed the other man."

Everyone looked at Sumiko with a sort of satisfied horror.

* * *

If Schuldig had been honest with himself, he would have admitted there had never been any chance Ran could forget how Schuldig had forced him. But Rosenkreuz education doesn't worry much about facts and logic. And there was someone so easy to blame, close to hand.

"I'm sorry about your teammates," he said truthfully. The thought of Layla being assigned to Schwarz horrified him, and she seemed to have decided to assign herself. "We can put off starting that baby for a few days."

For a moment the expression on Layla's face could almost be termed thoughtful. Layla hadn't spent much time thinking about a flesh-and-blood baby. Then things returned to normal. She said quickly, "My duty to Esset comes first."

Schuldig wondered if Ran would feel sorry for the desperation forcing this woman to hang onto his arm. He was often soft about young women, and Layla would always be very young. She was so scared of failing Esset, it hadn't sunk in, yet, she ought to be scared of whoever killed her two teammates.

He managed to retrieve his right arm, and let her grasp his left. "Then perhaps we can drive down the river, and look at the moonlight on the water." Schuldig had always considered the docks a lucky killing ground.

* * *

A few hours later, half a world away, a withered old hand wrote Layla's name on the list.

The list of names were under the heading Farfarello. There were quite a few. Some were definitely dead. Some, like Crawford, just disappeared. Among them, agents who'd normally be suspected of defecting. With the others, however, they made an unmistakeable pattern.

Well, hunting psychics, sooner or later Farfarello would bite off more than he could chew. Meanwhile, he'd weed out some weaklings from Esset.

Sally was a loss, but certainly there were other ways for the One to enter this world.

His intercom said in a diffident tone, "Professor Tsuji has arrived, sir."


	18. Midwinter

Magic Bus Hospital had been left out of Kritiker's civil war. It was the safest and most comfortable place in Japan for someone in Crawford's condition. Schuldig had bought a good print of Waterhouse's _Consulting the_ _Oracle_, arranged for classical music to be played regularly, and put in a standing order at the Koneko.

He sat beside Crawford's bed, and spoke as if the man could hear him. He knew quite well he didn't.

"So I'm pretty sure you were dealing straight with me. But if I let them take you off that happy stuff drip, and revive you...I know you. Ruthlessness is your weakness. You didn't trust Silvia enough to tell her we were working for our freedom. Now she knows, you'll shoot her to be on the safe side. I had to choose between a telekinetic and a precog. I think we'll need the telek more. Pity. I think you'd have enjoyed the respect Silvia and I are getting, as we try to prepare Kritiker for Esset's attack.

"When you wake up, it'll all be over, one way or the other. I think you'll wake up a free man."

* * *

Birman winced. Possibly it was the noisy construction equipment. This part of the beach hadn't seen anything like it since the first ice cream concession. "Couldn't you have called in a Christian Church? They're the people used to dealing with this sort of thing."

Sumiko said meditatively, "I did think of it. But Christians banish their devils by invoking a stronger power. And it needs just a little slant, a little twist, to turn a god into a formidable devil."

"Still," said Birman, disconsolately. "Holding the dedication ceremony at midwinter is a rush. It's going to be high profile." 'High profile' is bad language to a Kritiker agent.

"There might even be a television camera. If I am wrong twice, and there is a demon, and it does get through, there will be footage to warn everyone as quickly as possible." Sumiko brightened. "And the press will be seated right against those trees. It might even do some good."

Birman managed to hide her smile. Fujimiyas were serious people, and she wasn't quite sure Sumiko would take it the right way.

* * *

Yohji couldn't help wrinkling his nose at himself. He made a very convincing street person. At least nobody would penetrate his disguise. Nobody would come near enough.

A light, young soprano said, "Kudoh-san?"

He wondered whether to deny everything, but he was a married man. He looked up into the worried face of a very young woman. "I'm sorry, miss?"

"Kiyomi Yamamoto?" She blushed a bit. "I used to hang around the shop. Well, you, actually. I've left school, now. I've just got engaged." Proudly she showed him the ring.

"He's a lucky guy!"

"I'm lucky, too! Would you like to come and have lunch with us?" At Yohji's incredulous look down his street disguise, she added, "He'll be glad to meet a friend from my old days."

"That's very kind of you." Yohji was touched. He also hoped frantically he could rid of her, soon. "But I'm waiting for a guy who has some work for me."

She tried valiantly to hide her relief. "I – I hope it's a good job." Yohji could see her wondering if there was a polite way of asking what had happened, and deciding there wasn't. Her hand drifted towards her purse, and she snatched it back.

She didn't want to seem eager to leave, and Yohji was expecting a number of Esset agents on a hair trigger any moment. He said quickly, "I'm glad you're doing well, and I wish you the best. But if he sees us talking, he'll think I'm panhandling, and I won't get that job."

When finally she'd walked out of sight, he could answer his disguised headset, which had been hissing "Balinese!" at him for some time. "Just an old flame."

"They're everywhere, aren't they?" Asuka trusted him, but any wife would have asked. "Was she pretty?"

Yohji remembered the rabbity, sallow face. He also remembered kind eyes, willing to drag him along to a meeting with a new fiancé so he'd get a meal. "You can trust my taste."

"Anyone to do with the job?"

Yohji sank further into his dirty newspaper. He muttered, "...Four, five little carrion crows. No, two of them are silly, fluffy capons who just _think_ they're crows." The brighter of Nakatsugawa's men knew they weren't, and were already filtering back to the Kurasuma Persia.

In that neighbourhood, someone muttering into newspapers isn't that unusual, but he was glad no one seemed to notice. As Schuldig had suggested, he concentrated on simple images, of hot soup and warm blankets.

* * *

Schuldig had told the attentive Kritiker agents, "The Elders aren't photocopies of each other. Just as with any other team, they have different talents, sometimes very different approaches. They have deliberately forsaken names, but the Eldest is also called things like the Sorcerer. He likes to hint he's an old fashioned, black magic warlock. It's his arcane knowledge which first contacted the One."

* * *

Meanwhile, half a city away, the Eldest was dragging the others along on a long car ride they felt not at all needed, especially after the flight from Vienna.

"If Crawford was still in charge of Tokyo, perhaps not. But I want to see the Place of Summoning with my own eyes." He nodded to Tsuji to drive. With an apprehensive look at the other two Elders, she drove. Her ambitions were more than satisfied. She had practically taken Crawford's place as their pet. She wasn't at all sure she liked it.

"That's it?" asked the other old man. Age, and his own choice, had worn away most of his emotions except greed and pride, but the ghost of surprise flickered in his dull eyes.

The Eldest left the car, and walked over to the site Crawford had so carefully picked. A few months ago it had been a lonely place, with sharp currents and rip tides to add energy to any magic. Now there was a new development. Tons of concrete sitting squarely on the Place, tons of soil sitting on that, and plants, even trees, growing on top of the soil. The sea lapped tamely and prettily at the sand.

The old woman left the car, to read with some difficulty the kanji sign: Kaito Fujimiya Memorial Park, and shrugged. "All this will be only a sparrow against a hurricane when the power of the One is brought against it."

"I know," said the Eldest, but he sounded strained. He was staring at the nearest ice-glazed tree, a dreadful suspicion stealing over him. He'd thought he'd left them all behind in Europe.

He sneezed.

The old woman hardly had to look at the rowan tree. "You do realise it's psychosomatic? Rowans have no actual Power."

The Eldest scratched himself at her, and bundled himself, shivering, scratching and sneezing, back into the car.

Perhaps in order to distract him, the third Elder asked, "Do you want a tour of Tokyo this afternoon, while we work? It's kind of historic, its last day as a free city."

The Eldest didn't have to think about it much. "Who the hell cares about their little mundane lives? We've enough miles to cover, working."

* * *

Midwinter eve. The sunset seemed to know this might be a last. It brought out all its finest colours, and spread them lavishly over the great city. It stayed as long as it could, but finally the winter night fell on Tokyo.

The fragile lights held it back.

Schuldig had said, "The She Elder may have medical training. Her specialty is biology, at least human biology."

Those words haunted Shirasagi Reiichi as the crane swung the dozens of cases off the long freight train. The labels on them said, 'Processed Meat', 'Keep Refrigerated!'

Some workers stayed, still busy less than a hundred feet away, across cartons arranged in the open air. But Crashers had the skill to enter undetected the meat warehouse. Reiichi was still checking up their probationer, but here, at least, he had no complaints.

Masato's brown hair was long and unkempt, and he was a few shaves behind. He still managed to look more as if he owned half the railway, and didn't think much of it, rather than a hobo sneaking into a deserted warehouse. He said to Naru, "You better keep watch outside."

The junior Crasher said hesitantly, "I'm a full member of this team."

The other Crashers were in flashy trench coats or, in Naru's case, a flashy golf coat. Reiichi's old tweeds were baggy enough to hide his bullet proof vest just as well. He adjusted his spectacles, and looked suspiciously over the dark freightyard. "We do need someone to keep watch."

Naru nodded. He was glad to stay outside.

They were all carrying crowbars. Ran was the first to pry open one of the cases. As expected, the 'processed meat' was a body in what looked like an iced coffin, except for the panel at its head. Ran raised his bar to smash the panel, and Yuushi grabbed his wrist. "You can't do this! He's only a child."

"He's not as human as he looks."

"Crashers are a no-kill team. We're here to intercept and hide these people. We won't kill them."

"Hide them from Esset? That won't last long." Yuushi's hold didn't relax. Ran said, "We no longer have the choice 'no killing'. Either these kill Kritiker agents, and civilians, or we kill them."

Reiichi was Bishop, and the leader of Crashers. "Knight! Castle! Crashers has been assigned the task of stopping these..." He pried open a couple of cases himself. "Children. Castle, do you believe Esset can find these people if Kritiker hides them out of Tokyo?"

Masato said hopefully, "It wouldn't have to be long."

"They'll find them. Quickly." Schuldig had never dared tell Crawford quite how much Ran had learned about Esset from Schwarz. "These can't be given a human life." Ran pulled again at Yuushi's grasp. "If you can't do it, let me."

"You are a member of this team." Reiichi looked again at the faces of sleeping children. He was thinking of how long and hard he'd fought King to keep Crashers a non-killing unit. He wondered just how far Ran could be trusted. The new guy was the sort to love or hate overwhelmingly, and might see children as nothing more than tools of his enemy.

Ran said, "Let me show you." He put down his crowbar, and pressed a couple of buttons. The nearest cradle slid open.

The boy gasped for breath a couple of times, sat up, then stepped out. He stood beside the coffin, breath slowing. Reichii thought he might be blind, then tried to see what he was looking at.

Ran said, "He's just waiting for directions. Unless he's been programmed otherwis, he'll just stand there waiting till he dies." His sword was in his hand.

At last Reiichi nodded for him to use it. Then Crashers' leader lifted up his crowbar and destroyed the first life support.

Naru's head popped through the doorway. "We're falling behind schedule."

Crashers killed faster.

* * *

Once past the high fence, Yohji looked judiciously at the Kantei, the official residence of the Prime Minister and his Cabinet. "Not so much a café as a jailhouse canteen."

Birman nodded briefly to the men guarding it. They stared back expressionlessly at her and Weiss. It would take very little to change them to the sort of thug Weiss killed routinely.

The visitors entered the building. They'd glimpsed this room in a hundred news shots, and the men sitting waiting for them. But now these men looked a lot less smooth. They looked as if they'd had most of the stuffing taken out.

Exactly, in fact, as they would if they'd been woken up after a hard day, and told about a sudden, unbelievable attack on them.

Birman bowed hurriedly, and said, "Thank you for seeing us at such short notice. I assure you it's necessary."

The Prime Minister of Japan said, "If this had not been practically an order from my most trusted anti-terrorist forces, I wouldn't have. This isn't the first, or the tenth, plot to undermine civilisation I've heard about since I replaced Takatori."

Birman bowed again. "I don't think I'd convince you by handing you all the background at once. Takatori made a bargain with a supranational. It got him the Prime Ministership. He tried to dismiss them. He died. The bargain was a good one for those people. They intended to end up owning Japan. They still intend it.

"However the original representative would have gone about this, his replacements have decided to follow his example, and control the political leaders of Japan. An elite squad have just landed at Narita Airport. Asylum seekers from Esset have told us that controlling you is high on their list. Believe me, their methods of control will work.

"Please let Kritiker take you to a place of safety."

The Prime Minister sat there blinking for a moment. Both his eyes and voice blurred, he asked, "We'd be putting a lot on the word of these self called asylum seekers. Who are turncoats, after all."

"They aren't nice people. They've been carefully trained not to be nice people. But their own survival depends on us being as fully and accurately informed as possible."

He drew himself up to his full sitting height possibly trying to look statesmanlike. "There is one thing you've overlooked."

"Sir?"

He looked at them, and suddenly stopped blinking. His eyes took an unnatural, pearly gleam. In a voice not so much blurred, as like two voices trying to speak together, he said, "One of the team was a teleporter, and we were here ahead of you."

He stood up, like a puppet being jerked upright. All the suited puppets stood up.

* * *

The Kritiker agents were good, but Schuldig's talent was the first to pick out their target from the black-and-dazzle of a main road at night. The three big 'freight trucks' were painted dull, anonymous colours. Their drivers had blended them in remarkably well with the night traffic.

The Kritiker contigent knew quite well they carried enough arms and armour to please a tanks corps. After all, they'd been Kritiker property until Nakatsugawa handed them over to Esset.

As carefully as possible, Schuldig read the lead driver's mind. The Esset drivers were mundanes, since they were the first target for attack. But there was strong talent riding shotgun. Not to mention the actual troops, alert in the back of the trucks.

As the first truck turned into a side road, Silvia began frowning in concentration. The second truck followed it, and she braced herself. When the third truck turned, she looked positively distressed.

Schuldig touched her shoulder. "You can stop now."

Silvia stopped. The 'road' surface of thin balsa her telekinesis had been supporting evaporated under the heavy wheels and all three trucks fell down into the explosives set for them.

"They are all dead, sir?" asked the senior Kritiker agent. After a blast like that, they'd have to be, wouldn't they?

Schuldig frowned. "Or dying. Keep away, though. Even a dying talent can kill." He looked away, his sharp gaze blurring. "Or tell me something." Looking back at the senior agent. "I think I've got a clue where the Elders are."

Now the youngest Elder, Schuldig had said, is the little guy with the glasses and kind smile. He makes a point of those tinted glasses. It'll be nine-tenths hype, but don't look into his eyes. Sometimes he's called the Engineer. His interest is tools. Psychics as tools, weapons of metal and plastic, crowd manipulation, and he was in on computers from the beginning. Our Bombay will be better with normal computers, but there's no telling what tricks he's got up his sleeve. But mainly, people as tools.

Something Tsuji knew quite well. She would not have been in the Engineer's corner if she'd had her free her skills didn't interest the Eldest, and the She Elder looked on her as a rival.

Mind you, she might have done otherwise if she hadn't thought the Engineer was quite right. Why bother about all the messy business of a human host, a human body? Instead of incarnating the One, you can download it. The little laptop she carried would be a sufficient gateway to the internet.

Neither the Engineer nor Tsuji were bothering with an armed invasion. Most of Tokyo had heard of this night's fighting as news on the television, and the crowd she walked among was a normal Tokyo crowd. Engrossed in their own affairs, they rushed past Tsuji, ignoring another young businesswoman carrying laptop like a briefcase.

Tsuji was sure she blended in. She must blend in. This feeling of being watched must be just nerves from the importance of her mission.

She concentrated on getting her steps just the same speed and length as the other pedestrians. On looking straight ahead, not catching anyone's eyes, while she was trying to make sure they weren't already looking at her.

She swung around suddenly, so convinced someone was just behind her.

Several people cannoned into her. She tried to recoil from all of them at once, and except for the press around her, would have fallen over.

A trodden foot, an elbowed rib, and she found herself amazed there was nothing worse.

At last she saw the internet café and headed for it. Even once safe inside, she looked over her shoulder.

She greeted with great respect the small, elderly man in glasses, who was sitting in the most private and comfortable seat at the back.

"All well, Professor?" asked the Engineer, gesturing for her to sit beside him.

She flushed with pleasure as she did so. "Yes, sir." She set the laptop out before him. "Cutting edge Japanese technology."

He leaned a little closer to check it over, and nodded with pleasure, before sliding a knife blade between her ribs.

The blood only came out in a small spurt, but it was enough.

He had done this sort of thing when he was younger. He'd checked the manager, and all the customers, had been busy with their own grubby little affairs. But when he looked up, everyone in the room was watching him fixedly. They began telling each other to hold him before he got away, or went on a rampage, and began surrounding him. Closer and closer. He was in a narrowing circle of hostile mundanes.

And he couldn't move.

He tried to move at least his finger. Someone sharing his skin with him stopped him doing even that. He could recognise Schuldig's mind as easily as he could his face.

A mundane reached out and snatched his knife from him. Another grabbed his right arm. Another held his shoulder. He couldn't even move his eyes to look at their faces, but then he'd never been interested in mundanes' faces.

They weren't the only mundanes he saw. There were many ghosts Schuldig could summon up. He tried to fight against the telepath, outraged he would hide behind his enemy's memories. This wasn't the sort of fighting telepaths did at Esset. In that sort of fighting, his narrow but aggressive form of telepathy could beat Schudig. But now all he saw was reflections of himself. He retook control of his own body, then realised Schuldig had let him, to slide deeper into his mind.

He went on fighting. Schuldig, his own memories, the mundane hands on him.

When finally the Engineer's old heart gave out, Schuldig was exhausted. He felt as if he'd been standing in vile sewage, nearly drowning deep, while holding someone beneath its surface.

Still, he should have felt triumph. But as he walked off, he looked like a man who's just been condemned to death.

* * *

The two junior members of Farblos sat in the motor boat's wheelhouse and listened to Amlisch address his troops. "Esset is spending a lot of valuable troops so we can get through. The Japs are running round like their tails are on fire. You know Farblos is the best, and we've chosen the best to fight with us. We can go through these mundanes, no matter how many there are, no matter what tricks they try.

"We sail in from the sea. We should get close before they even notice, but in the long run that doesn't matter. I'm your eyes, Prahanov is your shield, and Naoe can crush them.

"Mop up the few mundanes we miss, and help hold the Place long enough for the Summoning, and you're the heroes of Esset, entitled to first share when the One takes its place." A bit more prosaically, "Kill any Japs but Naoe, even the ones saying they're on our side. Our Kritiker agents are only mundanes, and not life loyal mundanes at that."

His men were relieved at the order. Nagi made a mental note some of them might forget he was an exception.

Amlisch came back to the wheelhouse with a gleam in his blind eyes. Prahanov had been his teammate for a long time, and he was sure of him. But Esset's most powerful telekenetic had only recently joined them, and he took time to reassure him. "Just follow my orders, and you'll have it all. With revenge on the mundanes who abused you."

Nagi remembered the tales of the thousands Amlisch had killed, and wondered what had been done to the clairvoyant, that he still wasn't satisfied.

The motor boat was still well out to sea when Amlisch sent out the bird which was his eyes. Normally, he used a pigeon, but for nightwork he had a small owl. It spread its wings and flew ahead. It scanned the whole horizon, while its silhouette melted into the bright lights of Tokyo.

It should have looked up.

None of Farblos knew, and the sole survivor never found out, Kritiker had, as part of its formidable equipment, a high flying stealth helicopter. Ran had been giving Crashers lessons in how to screen from telepathic scanning, so it was Bishop flying, and Rook shooting.

As far as Nagi, and the rest of the Farblos force, was concerned, their boat just blew up on them.

Amlisch kept his tone as calm as possible, while speaking loud enough to be heard over his men's shouts. Holding onto the nearest bit of petrol slippery wreck, "Pyros, do not use your talent. Sergei – yes. Nagi, keep the boat afloat." Nagi supposed he meant the largest part. "Telepaths," he looked at the bodies floating in the dark water, "report your condition."

Nagi considered. Stopping a man's heart was the standard murder for Esset telekenetics, but it was slow and obvious. It was so much quicker to stop the blood to a man's brain.

Not Amlisch. He was holding them together, but it was Sergei Prahanov's shield which would save the force. It took only a moment. Yes, Amlisch, he did want revenge on the people who abused him.

Nagi slid into the water, just in time to miss being blinded by the glare of a rocket launched from the shore.

He was poor at normal swimming, but used his power to send himself through the sea. Far enough away to feel safely screened by the dark, he looked back.

Amlisch was salvaging some foothold with weaker telekinetics, ordering telepaths to find and destroy their attacker. Nagi sent out his power against it. The drifting remnants of the boat exploded. His talent shouldn't have exploded it, should it?

After that, Nagi kept a wary eye on the water around him.

* * *

Schuldich stopped and looked at the Kantei. Behind the fence were a number of irate guards. On the outside stood Weiss, all four of them apparently healthy, though Kudoh was annoyed about something.

The nearest few guards trotted over, to see if they could vent their spleen on him. He nodded at Weiss and said, "I'm with them." The guards glowered more.

He strolled up to Weiss. Kudoh turned to him for support. "The Prime Minister _bit_ me!"

Botan said, "Well, we've all had rabies shots."

Omi said soothingly, "He was overwrought, Yohji-kun. And it was hardly the time."

Asuka said, "It was a good speech." She obviously felt the PM's breech of etiquette the more serious. In what, for Asuka, was an outstanding display PDA, she kissed Yohji's cheek, and let him go back to nursing his wrist.

Botan said judiciously, "I don't think it was the speech. I think it was Yohji ruffling his hair."

Schuldig said, "I don't have to ask what's happened to Schattig. What about the Elders?"

Omi said, "Two, Jaeger-san." He bowed to the nearest guard, who went on glowering. Weiss' sudden switch from ally to enemy back to ally suggested he better keep an eye open for the next change. "These gentlemen, believing both Esset and Weiss were enemies, took care of them for us." Even under urgent threat, Schudig savoured the picture of two Elders being shot to pieces by guards, who thought of them just as something in the way. He only wished they'd died hurting more. "But the third - " Schuldig jerked his thumb down. Omi smiled.

Schuldig stood watching them for a minute. Silvia had suggested letting them believe they'd won. If they went to sleep believing that, and didn't wake up again, she thought it the kindest thing to do.

But Schuldig wasn't going to lie down and kill himself. He was going to make his enemy work as hard as possible for victory, however sure it was. And Weiss would be a strong ally. He said, "Schattig would have died anyway. The Elders meant to kill them, though they wanted them to kill you first." Four alert professionals faced him. Even the guards stopped grumbling and listened.

He told them, "I guess it was the She Elder who tried to incarnate the One in a vessel. That didn't work. Then the Engineer thought of downloading him, into the internet. That mightn't have worked anyway. But the Eldest decided to summon his demon directly, the old fashioned way. Spells, for all I know. Blood sacrifices.

"Today the Elders somehow sketched a pentagram on the city of Tokyo. Tonight they, with Kritiker's help, spilled their slaves' blood in a summoning, at each of the five points."

Asuka might have seen a lot of strange things in Weiss, but seemed to have trouble with this. "Anyway, the death of the summoner ends the spell."

Schuldig nodded to something behind her. "Obviously not."

Weiss turned and looked.

Smoggy Tokyo in midwinter has lots of darks. This was darker than any of them had ever seen. It made a wall, from which the corner of the Kantei jutted like the end of a log in a fire.

Several people were staggering out, looking desperate for air. Schuldig was reminded of the survivors of a gas attack. He said, mostly to Bombay, "I don't think we'll be able to get out of this part of Tokyo. But if we lie low, we might be able to get in a little sabotage. Japan's probably done for, but if we get as much info as possible to the rest of the world..."

Omi patted him on the shoulder, and said, "You're a good man." Then he turned to Birman. "Is Nakatsugawa still in Persia's old office?"

"Yes. It's so well defended."

Bombay's thoughts balanced the speed he could access the Koneko's equipment with the greater power and resources Shuichi had given to Kritiker's HQ. Schuldig listened impatiently. The Engineer had been so sure...

"Yohji-kun, will you drive us to Kritiker headquarters?"

"Kudoh speed!"

Weiss had meant to truck Prime Minister, Cabinet, and guards in a bus plainly marked as one of Japan's best known tourist companies. Seated across the aisle from them, Schuldig spoke over Botan to Omi. "We better grab one of their surveillance vans. We can live it in for a while." Yohji took off, and he closed his eyes. Botan chuckled.

It wasn't only because of Yohji's driving, though Schuldig didn't mean to get planesick at groundlevel if he could help it. He contacted Silvia. Her reply over the team link was distant and distracted. Yes, she'd warned Ran. All Crashers, in fact. They'd gone to the Place of Summoning to fight the One. Not meant for Schuldig to receive, the image of Honjou and Ran standing side by side.

Schuldig told himself Ran had never been meant to be more than a diversion. Besides, if the One killed them cleanly, they might be the best off in all Tokyo. But he warned Silvia not to go with them.

She sent /No. I've been under Esset's thumb too long. I'm going to have a really luxurious restaurant meal. Then I'll try to get away from Tokyo by subway, under the dark. If it works, I'll keep on running. If it doesn't, I'll use my telekenesis to break my own neck./ Schuldig jerked himself away from the near relief she felt at the thought. This was no time to be tempted by that. The last team link he had shredded like tissue paper.

When he opened his eyes, Birman, in the front seat, was talking on a Kritiker radio. Just then, Asuka joined in her conversation, and told it, "We can e-mail you pictures of the dead Elders. You'll have no trouble finding the record of the recent death, by heart attack, of the third."

Schuldig blinked. "You're actually trying to _talk_ Nakatsugawa into surrendering?" Weiss optimism was alien to his Rosenkreuz training, but this was outside the solar system altogether.

Botan looked meaningfully at Omi, who was working frantically on his laptop. Asuka sent by telepathy, in a overloud amateur way, /Into letting us save their lives, along with everyone else's./

Schuldig winced and made a shushing gesture at her.

Omi looked up. "Tell them, if they walk out, they won't be pursued either legally or covertly."

Birman said, "I don't have the authority to make such a promise, and Nakatsugawa knows it."

Bombay said, "Weiss makes the promise. Kritiker will honour it."

Birman started to open her mouth, possibly to point out he had even less authority than she had. Then she looked at him. Maybe she was thinking of Kurasuma, nowadays treated as Persia. Kritiker had accepted Shuichi was gone for good. Kurasuma was hard working and honest, but Shuichi had deliberately chosen a second who would challenge him with no sort of ambition or ability.

Yohji, who was a good enough detective to keep his ears open and his mouth shut when he had to, said, "It won't be long before we're there. Shall I give them time to start arguing?"

"No, Yohji-kun." A few taps of his laptop keyboard. "From this satellite picture of Tokyo, we can't lose any time."

Schuldig caught a glimpse and said, "Good idea. We destroy all records of Kritiker agents and resources. The One might use human servants."

Yohji parked in front of police headquarters. When the five of them got out they breathed in air too cold and bad even for midwinter Tokyo.

Omi coughed, and said hoarsely, "Weiss, and Mastermind. I ask you not to use weapons, except to defend yourselves."

Tonight no armed police barred the way to Kritiker HQ. There was still a lot of people about. From the reports of energy and communications down, the police knew there was some of disaster happening. Those who recognised Birman watched her hopefully. At least some of them could guess the identity of the people with her.

Nakatsugawa was waiting for them just in front of the front steps, a senior aide at each shoulder. He bowed low to her. "Takaoka-san."

"Chief Superintendant." It almost surprised Schuldig to remember this flunky of Esset's was a highly placed police officer.

He bowed to the rest of them. "We walk, we have the word of Weiss we walk away free."

He was looking mostly at the eldest, Botan, and it was Botan who said "Yes."

Nakatsugawa bowed again. "Takaoka-san knows where my office is. I've left all the equipment unharmed and ready for use."

All three of the Esset flunkies walked down the steps onto the street. Birman watched them go bitterly. "_His _office! It's Persia's. That man's had my friends killed."

Asuka said, "He may have saved the rest."

They walked into the foyer, and what appeared like the major part of the Tokyo police force got a good look at them. Asuka said softly. "Looks like, if we do come through, Weiss is blown anyway."

Birman tried to reassure her. "You'd be surprised how many cops know about you already."

On a large television screen they saw a much larger, clearer version of the picture Schuldig had glimpsed on Omi's laptop. It was a real time photo of Tokyo. On the normal city lights was a dark pentagram. Not just a failure of the lights, but the same utter dark they'd already seen close up. It could even be seen where one arm stretched over the sea, far darker than the night ocean.

Birman led them into a private lift, which dropped a floor more than it should have. Before she opened the doors, everyone looked at Schuldig. He shook his head. "No one there."

There really wasn't. The entire Kritiker floor was deserted. Lights and office machines were on. Cups of coffee still steamed on desks. Papers which should never have been left unguarded were dropped on the floor.

Birman led them to Persia's office. For the first time, and he hoped the last, Omi sat in Persia's chair. He asked Birman, "The overrides?"

Birman walked him through the protocols Persia had designed for hijacking his brother's control of the city. The other three Weiss arranged themselves to repel any Esset attack. Schuldig decided this was no time to start teaching them how to live under a powerful tyranny. He sat on the edge of Persia's rosewood desk, and sneered at the Nietzche slogan Nakatsugawa had hung on the wall.

Shuichii had been more interested in communications, but Omi went for the electrical power. Schuldig heard him thinking to concentrate on the clear and white lights. Through Omi, he could follow circuits clicking on, powering to full. Omi looked at him. "Even Tokyo has only finite power. Will breaking the pentagram in a few places be enough?"

"I don't know."

"Nor do I. Let's try four."

On the desk, the screen of Omi's laptop could be seen by all. As bright a white as possible, a line of light arrowed in the four directions. When the light reached the dark, even Schuldig forgot he knew better, and watched hopefully.

The dark drank it. It seemed to spread up the white like smoke, dimming it.

Botan growled. Asuka snapped, "Step up the power!'

Omi said with a flatness none of them mistook for calm, "If I do, something in the grid's likely to give. I'm drawing on as much power as I can keep up. And make no mistake," he might almost have been addressing the dark, "we will keep it up."

The light suddenly flared brighter. Schuldig had to blink several times see anything but dazzle.

Yohji said wonderingly, "It's gone."

Where the pentagram had been, there were few lights. But it was nothing like the dark that had been earlier. There was no sign of it at all.

But Omi was the careful type. For the rest of the long night, the white cross burned bright to defend Tokyo.


	19. Epilogue

Schudig was not normally a patient man. But he might only have one brief chance to read Silvia's mind. He had to time it just right.

So he waited while Silvia unlocked the shop door, shaking his head in reproof when she failed to notice the lock was smoother than usual. He waited while she switched on the lights and the heat. He wanted the heater even more than she did. He waited until she opened the back room's door on him, and he could hold her gaze with his. Then he hit her with all his mental strength, as fast as he could. She was stunned semi-conscious, and he grabbed her upper arms to hold her upright.

They stayed like this for just a few seconds, while he tore through her mind. She mightn't be able to reach her talent, but she still managed to say, "I'm not going back to Crawford."

//You're not. Crawford's dead. I thought you must have killed him.// But it wasn't the same as speaking through a team link. He said aloud, "If I stop holding you, will you give me time to explain?" He felt her first test the hold he had on her talent. She nodded. He stepped back, physically and mentally. Silvia's shields went up. She rubbed her forehead.

He offered to help her to the nearest chair, and she scowled at him. The chair floated toward her, and she sat down in it rather quickly. She said, "I know you have a weakness for Ran, but the Fujimiyas are much more likely to do away with Crawford."

The chairs were a bit small for his sprawled way of sitting. He lounged along the edge of the big table. "I checked them first." Sumiko Fujimiya in her office, Aya over her nursing text books, Ran in the kendo, learning no kill moves.

No, he didn't want to remember that. Yuushi this, Yuushi that. Sickening.

He'd even looked into the staff of a certain restaurant. Only a fool ignored Ouka Sakaki. "They didn't do it."

"Then Weiss? But it would be Esset, not Kritiker."

"I don't think Esset ever knew he wasn't their loyal dog." Crawford would have so enjoyed telling them. There were many in Esset who had held personal grudges against Crawford, from his first teacher to Nagi Naoe, but they were all of them dead.

"How was he killed?"

"He died in bed. Something stopped the blood supply to his brain. The doctor thinks it might have been the drugs, or maybe a minor stroke in just the wrong place. He was full of excuses." The doctor had been scared of Schuldig, and rightly so. Schuldig wondered again if he should have shot the man. At the time, Schuldig had been concentrating on catching a deliberate murderer. Answering her sceptical look, "He was getting better! Most of his time asleep, but not a coma. He sat up that morning." Schuldig wouldn't tell her how Crawford had looked to check Schuldig was there, and trusted that made Crawford safe.

And it had just been an accident, after all. That made him feel better.

"After midwinter, I wasn't even in Tokyo."

"You could have hired someone. Or is that against the rules of your new profession?" He looked at the florists' debris on the table, and clicked his tongue. "A flower shop called Kitten in the House?"

"It works," Silvia assured him. "And I better work, too." Bundling herself into her red coverall, she said, "We're pretty new at this. We don't have the same client base as your lot." As she hurried out to the front, he surveyed the expensive shop stock with a glint in his eye.

There were two customers waiting. One of them was a regular who liked to spend as much time as possible flirting with Silvia. This morning both customers were as fast as possible. When the second had left, Silvia said flatly, "No using powers in the shop. We want to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible."

Schuldig came out of the back room, and offered her an enormous bouquet. The biggest flowers he could find, in every bright colour. It came off, just. He'd learned a few things from Weiss. "Kritiker isn't my lot. Crawford didn't mean to stay in Japan. I don't want to, either." Ran had mattered. "But I am a telepath, and I need an anchor." He didn't need to explain how, in the long run, a telepath needs to be stabilised by a known mind. In Rosenkreuz the non-telepaths had liked to use the term nursemaid. The telepaths preferred the metaphor 'guide dog'. She looked at the bouquet, and him, and frowned at both. She stayed well shielded, too. "This isn't a proposal of marriage, Silvia, it's a practical."

She still didn't take it. "Most people would look for marriage and family."

Schuldig thought of Sumiko mourning her husband, Botan his wife and daughter. He simply didn't understand why the guy had refused Schuldig's offer of amnesia, saying he didn't want to lose the years he'd had them. "I prefer my pain second hand." Some time ago, he'd caught an idea of how Silvia remembered their time together. He'd been disheartened to learn how forced she'd felt. "I'm not still that jerk teenager you knew in Rosenkreuz."

"No, you're not. I should send Ran roses."

"Better make them white ones."

She was still frowning. He waited. At last she said, "It's turned out very well for you. You're not Esset's property. And now, you're not Crawford's either. I don't ask if Esset put an extra collar on you for him, but you must have been tempted to get rid of him."

Schuldig thought of Crawford, utterly helpless on the hospital bed. "I was. But I had him cared for and guarded as well as I could. And I would have killed you, if you'd murdered him. I'm loyal to my team, Silvia."

Silvia's frown went, and she smiled slightly. Taking the bunch, and almost staggering under it, she said, "You do good work, and I'll tell KR so."

FIN


End file.
